Waiting For You
by snoopygubs
Summary: Timing is everything. As the years pass, Ron and Hermione realize the truth behind this simple philosophy...at the same time realizing how hard it can be to wait for the one thing you want more than anything.
1. Godric's Hollow

**Waiting For You**

_Here's a new one. I've been playing around with this in my head, and it's taken a while for it to come out. This does not follow Invisible Scars, so the beginning is totally different. It will also be in installments. Every chapter is a new year. This will have HBP stuff in it, so if you haven't read it, shame on you (just kidding). You have been warned:) I hope you enjoy! _

**Chapter 1 – Godric's Hollow**

Despite how hot it had been all afternoon, as the August day slid into a dark night the clouds looked as if they threatened to open up at any moment and drench the world with cold, unrelenting rain. Ron's eyes scanned the darkening sky through the smudged pane of glass, landing finally on a hunched figure sitting toward the back of the expansive yard.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. Ever since their arrival at Godric's Hollow five days ago, Harry spent more time outside at his parents' graves than he did anywhere else. Hermione was in a right state about it, but Ron had done his best to try and calm her fears that Harry was becoming too maudlin for his own good. As usual, she'd barely listened to what he said, opting to scrub the house from top to bottom, as if the cleanliness would draw Harry back inside.

He watched as Harry shifted where he sat, and for one moment he thought his best mate might in fact be calling it quits for the day. No such luck. Harry had simply been reaching into the bag at his side for a rather large book, which he opened on his lap and began poring over as if it held all the secrets of the world.

Ron growled in frustration, partly at Harry and partly at Hermione. She had been the one, after all, who had given Harry the ancient book she'd found in Lupin's private library. The book contained legends and myths of Dark Artifacts, and although Ron knew they really needed to learn all they could before striking out on their…mission…for lack of a better word, he couldn't help wanting to tear the pages from it piece by piece until there was nothing left but a bit of old leather.

He was terrified about what lay ahead, and he wasn't too proud to admit it. They had always had Dumbledore around to protect them, and now with him gone, they were truly on their own. Harry wouldn't hear of asking for anyone's help, and Ron knew it was useless to argue. He felt lucky that Harry hadn't tried to ditch him and Hermione yet – since he was so hell bent on 'protecting' people. Sometimes, Harry could be the most stubbornly obstinate person he'd ever known, and with his own family, that was saying something.

He grew even more pensive as his thoughts turned to his family. He recalled the way they'd all laughed and carried on at Bill's wedding last week, and a small smile crossed his face briefly. The day had been as close to perfect as Ron could have expected. Bill had never looked happier in his life, and although his mother cried consistently throughout the day, Ron knew they were the good kind of tears. There had been no unhappiness or fear that day, and Ron could only hope that there would be more moments like that for his family for a long time.

"What are you doing?"

His thoughts were interrupted by Hermione's quiet voice calling out to him tentatively from the bottom of the stairs.

"Nothing," he answered, not turning to face her. Somehow, she always knew what was going on in his head, and truth be told it was damned annoying. Especially when he was in as sulky a mood as he was in now.

"Is Harry still out there?" she asked, her voice sounding closer now. She must have moved away from the stairs. He still didn't turn around as he nodded. He knew she'd have something to say about it, and she didn't disappoint.

"It's going to start pouring any moment now. Maybe I should go out there…"

"Hermione, let him be. He's smart enough to come in if it starts raining," he said, finally turning to face her.

Her hurt expression didn't help matters any. Things had been tense between them all summer, almost as if neither knew exactly what to do or say any longer. They were both worried about Harry, scared of the future, scared for their families, and to top it all off, they seemed to do little else but bicker back and forth over the silliest things. He had thought that the damage they'd done to each other last year had been buried along with Dumbledore. At his funeral, Ron had held her and cried with her…they'd leaned on each other as if nothing had changed between them at all.

In a way, maybe that was why they were at each other all the time now. They had seen each other's weakness, and neither one of them had ever been really good at feeling exposed and helpless. Or maybe they were just taking things out on each other because there was no one else around to take it out on.

"I know that," she snapped, punctuating his point. "It's just not healthy for him to be –"

"What?" Ron interrupted. "Mourning his parents properly for the first time?"

Hermione rocked back on her heels as if he'd slapped her. The hurt expression on her face slid into one of tightly controlled anger. He realized he'd gone too far, but it was too late. The storm clouds had shifted from the skies outside into her eyes.

"How dare you?" she bellowed. "Do you really hate me that much that you would say something so…so…" Her voice died off as she tried to think of a word that would be strong enough to describe his crime.

"Come off it. I don't hate you; I just want you to leave him alone," he said through clenched teeth. He knew he was being unreasonable, and he knew he was wrong, but he couldn't help the words coming out of his mouth. She was an outlet for his anger at the world, for the unfairness of it all. Somehow, it became all her fault in his mind.

"Fine," she stormed, a sudden brightness leaping to her dark eyes. "While I'm at it, why don't I leave you alone as well. At least until you stop behaving like an immature, unfeeling, self-centered git."

She turned on her heel and practically stomped out of the room. Ron's gut ached with remorse as he watched her disappear up the stairs to her makeshift room, not tearing his eyes away until he heard the door slam violently, echoing through the silent house.

His gaze retreated back out the window, a million things flying through his mind all at once. He hated this feeling he had. It was as if they were all stuck in a space where all they could do was wait. Nothing moved forward, and the past seemed like it happened a million years ago. He felt restless, agitated and frustrated beyond belief.

His eyes landed on Harry again, who was now closing the large book on his lap and looking up at the sky. A second later, when sheets of rain came pounding down in quick succession, Harry shoved the book under his shirt and dashed for the back door.

"Typical," Ron muttered, cursing the weather as if it, too, was the cause of all their problems. Harry entered the room a moment later, water dripping from his flattened hair and wiping at his glasses with his free hand.

"Hey," Ron said, sinking onto the arm of the nearest chair.

"Hey," said Harry, carefully removing the book from under his shirt and placing it on the table in front of the fireplace. He waved his wand at it, drying it quickly with a wordless spell that made Ron wonder just how many nights he'd stayed up practicing since his run-in with Snape.

"There's still a few sandwiches left in the kitchen if you're hungry," he said, keeping his gaze off the offensive book. Harry could look up all the information he wanted, but Ron didn't have to like it.

"I'm fine," said Harry, now flicking his wand over himself, drying him almost completely. There was a patch of hair in the front of his face still dripping wet, and Harry forced it off his forehead with an irritated gesture. His scar looked more pronounced than ever, Ron noticed, and he didn't know whether it was because Harry had become so pale in the last two months, or because he knew it was now bothering Harry constantly.

"Oh. Well, do you want to play some chess or something?" Ron asked, truly hating the gnawing frustration he was feeling toward both of his best friends at the moment.

Whereas he and Hermione did little else but argue, he and Harry did little else but avoid talking about what they were about to face. They went through the same routine every day. Ron would try and get Harry to do something, anything, that didn't have to do with death or war, and Harry would beg off and hole up somewhere to brood, or think, or do whatever else it was that he felt would prepare him best for what he considered his fate.

"No, I'm kind of tired. I think I'll turn in early," said Harry, pocketing his wand and grabbing the book off the table. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," muttered Ron at his back as Harry trudged up the same stairs Hermione had stomped up before. He let himself fall over the arm into the large cushioning of the chair and stared into the unlit fireplace for a very long time. Finally, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wand, pointing it into the empty grate.

He concentrated with all his energy on lighting a fire without speaking the words, and after a full minute, all he'd been able to manage was a small flint which struck a log and immediately fizzled out.

Cursing angrily, he flung his wand onto the table and leaned his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes. If the evening hadn't been bad enough, now he was reminded that he was pure rubbish at everything he ever attempted. He had barely passed his second Apparition test, and although neither Harry nor Hermione had said anything, he knew they'd been nervous for him. If Ron had failed, he would have been a hindrance to them; how would they have gotten around with him in tow?

This was not how this was supposed to be. They had been best friends for what seemed like forever, and now that they needed each other the most, they seemed to be coming apart at the seams. They had faced countless dangers before this, and come through it together, stronger than they'd been when they started out. Why were things falling to pieces now?

He didn't realize he'd drifted off until the creaking of the stairs jolted him upright. He automatically grabbed for his wand, whirling in his seat with it stretched out before him.

He lowered it immediately when he heard Hermione's startled gasp, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, he saw her clutching her chest with one hand.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," he grumbled, tossing his wand back onto the table. "Scare me half to death why don't you."

"I scared you?" she whispered harshly, drawing her robe more tightly around her. "What are you doing down here in the pitch black, anyway?"

"Fell asleep," he answered, rubbing at his tired eyes. "What are you doing up?"

She stood hesitantly in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself almost as tightly as her robe. "I couldn't sleep."

Just then, Ron heard Harry call out loudly from his room on the second floor, and knew exactly why Hermione couldn't sleep. Harry had been having nightmares almost nonstop since the beginning of the summer, and when he'd been staying in Ron's room at the Burrow the week of the wedding, Ron had barely gotten more than an hour or two of solid sleep a night.

Ron's eyes found Hermione's in the darkness, and for the first time in a very long time, they seemed to come to some sort of silent understanding. She lowered her eyes almost immediately, however, and she shuffled uncertainly toward the chair next to his.

"It's freezing down here," she said quietly. "Why didn't you light a fire?"

And just like that, the silent ease that Ron had felt only moments ago disappeared as the memory of his incompetence washed over him. He glared at his wand as if it was the reason he seemed to fail time and time again.

"It's August, Hermione. I'm not cold," he said, unable to keep the harshness out of his voice. He could feel Hermione studying him from where she sat, but he couldn't look at her.

"Well, I am," she replied, picking up his wand and swishing it at the fireplace. She didn't utter a word, and yet, to his anger and frustration, large flames began dancing in the grate nonetheless.

"Bully for you," he muttered under his breath. It didn't shock him that she had mastered wordless spells, just like Harry had.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he said, ignoring the growing gnaw of irritation flaring up inside his gut.

They remained quiet for a while, each lost in their own thoughts as they watched the flames consuming the logs hungrily.

After a few minutes, he heard Hermione shifting uncomfortably in her chair. He turned and looked at her, ready to spout off something else that was sure to get under her skin. When his eyes landed on her, however, he paused. She was hugging her knees tightly to her chest, her chin resting on the tops of them with her gaze fixed on the fire.

She looked so sad and…lost. The flare of irritation turned into a dull ache as he watched silent emotions fly across her face, gently lit by the glow of the flames.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked before he could stop himself. They hadn't exactly been on the best terms lately, and if she decided to answer him honestly it would be a small miracle.

Her gaze flickered to his quickly before returning to the fire. "Nothing," she said quietly, a look of fierce contemplation on her face.

Well, so much for small miracles. "Whatever," he said, turning his own gaze back to the fire. If she wanted to sit here in the awkward silence with him, then that was her business. He wasn't going upstairs any time soon, not until he had given Harry a little longer to try and find some peace while he slept.

He heard her voice hitch in her throat and knew he was in for another row. What exactly was it about her that turned him into such a…what was it she'd said? An immature, unfeeling, self-centered git…

She said nothing, however, and after a moment, his eyes swung back to her again. It had always been like that with her. No matter how angry he was with her, or she with him, he found himself being drawn to her whenever she was in the same room. And when he couldn't see her physically in front of him, thoughts of her plagued him until he was sure he could conjure her out of thin air simply by recalling every detail of her down to the curve of her slender wrists.

She was still staring straight ahead, her eyes blazing along with the red-hot flames, but the sadness that was visible before appeared magnified and enhanced now. He took a steadying breath, willing himself to say something civil…something that would at least make the hollowness in her eyes go away.

"So, you think the school is going to open this year?" he asked, hoping he sounded as off-handed and lighthearted as he wanted to sound.

It must have worked, at least a little, because instead of looking hollowly at the fire, she was now looking hollowly at him.

"Do you?" she asked, her voice sounding as small as she looked right now.

"I dunno…I mean, I think so, but I don't see a lot of parents wanting their kids back there now," he said, not really having considered it before. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure that _any_ parents would send their kids back to a school that had just been attacked by the largest gathering of Death Eaters in one place since before he was born.

Hermione nodded absently, silently, and hugged her knees more tightly to her, if it was possible. She appeared to be trying to revert so far inward that she would cease to exist. Ron felt the overwhelming urge to pull on her arm so she wouldn't disappear into herself.

"It seems so strange to think of school, knowing that Dumbledore isn't there, and that we're not going to be there either," she said after a while, fiddling with the cuff of her robes pooling around her toes.

"Yeah," Ron replied, feeling the small pull of grief he always did when he thought of Dumbledore these days. Before he could sink behind his thoughts, however, he righted himself in his chair. "What are you going to miss most about not going to school this year?" he asked, more to keep the first civil conversation they'd had in weeks going than anything else.

He saw her eyes flicker brightly again, and hoped she wouldn't start crying. Although he'd been the cause of her tears more often than not, he still hated seeing her cry.

"You'll laugh at me," she said, ducking her head further onto her knees, avoiding his gaze.

"No, I won't. I promise," he added when she huffed disbelievingly into the fabric around her knees. She seemed to consider his words for a while before she sighed softly and shrugged.

"I really would have liked to have been Head Girl," she said quietly, her eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks. "I know it sounds silly, considering…"

"It's not silly," he said automatically, cutting her off without realizing he'd even spoken. When she finally raised her eyes to his, he found that this time, he couldn't look away. Something in the way she'd said what she'd said made him realize that even though they may not be seeing eye to eye about quite a bit lately, they still had so much binding them together. Her aspirations for her future, his own, the desire to have something that belonged to them and them alone…not as Harry Potter's best friends, but as Hermione and Ron…

"You would have been, you know," he continued, when she'd remained quiet at his outburst. "No contest."

"Thanks," she said, her voice laced with a sadness and a regret that he now understood as being shared by them equally. "What about you? What are you going to miss most?"

A million things ran through Ron's head at her question, and although he had almost as many answers, he couldn't bring himself to say the one that was the most honest, the most truthful.

He had always assumed that he would have the chance to realize the vision he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised what seemed like lifetimes ago. Himself as Head Boy, Quidditch captain, winning the house cup for Gryffindor…only now, thinking on the vision over six years later he wondered if, alongside those desires, he'd see something else.

Or someone else, to be exact.

"Quidditch," he said quickly, reverting his gaze to the fire. "I'd miss trying to defend the championship."

_Ruddy coward_, he thought as he stared gloomily at the burning grate. Now she was going to think that on top of being an immature, unfeeling, self-centered git, he was also a simple little boy who thought of nothing more serious than a silly game played on broomsticks.

She remained silent for a long time, not responding to his juvenile thoughts. He chanced a look at her out of the corner of his eye and found her studying him closely. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, it's just –" she started, shrugging inconsequentially. "I would have liked to have seen you play your last year. You always seemed happiest when you were playing Quidditch. You would get this look on your face right before a game that…"

She trailed off, her eyes getting a bit wide as if she'd allowed herself to say too much.

Ron's chest constricted as he thought of her watching him that closely, noticing the little things in the same way he'd always noticed the little things about her. Like how she bit her lip when she was concentrating during an exam, or how she would play with a strand of hair while reading a particularly engrossing book. He could feel his face beginning to flush, and averted his gaze quickly at the same time as she tore hers away from him.

An awkward silence sprang up between them, and it was accentuated by the spitting and hissing of the fire as it burned behind the grate. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, and had always meant to say to her when the time was right. Here they were, alone, with very little chance of being interrupted…and he couldn't find the slightest bit of courage to utter even one word of it to her.

In a way, it was so much simpler to be rowing with her. That much he understood. He knew how she'd react and how she really felt, underneath all the mean, sometimes spiteful words they would toss at each other. He knew that no matter what they said to one another, they wouldn't stop being friends. He was more sure of that than he was anything else in his life.

Telling her all of the other stuff, however, was foreign territory…strange, dangerous and possibly disastrous. He had no idea how she'd react and how she felt. No, it was much safer to keep things as neutral as possible, especially now. They didn't have time for anything else. They had to focus on what they were about to do, and they had to have all their wits about them.

Now was most definitely not the time to tell her that he hated it when other blokes looked at her, or how pretty she was whenever she laughed at his stupid jokes. Now was not the time to try to explain that only after he saw her in the morning did he feel as if his day had really started. Now was not the time to admit that even if he didn't see her, he could always tell when she entered a room from the way his body began buzzing.

No, now was definitely not the time.

As if to prove his point, Harry's shouts pierced out in the darkness again, causing both of them to jump slightly. Ron looked toward the stairs at the same time as Hermione, and once again, their eyes caught and held.

The infinite sadness was back in Hermione's eyes again, and this time, it didn't look like it would be going anywhere anytime soon. Ron sighed, sinking back against the cushion as he laced his fingers on top of his head. Somehow, it helped the pounding headache he was beginning to feel creeping into his skull.

Hermione sat rigidly in the same position she'd been in all night, and Ron could only watch her as she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth to keep it from shaking too badly.

"His nightmares are getting worse, aren't they?" she asked quietly after some time. "I mean, I've heard him off and on all week, but the last two days it's been pretty constant."

"Yeah," said Ron in response, the only one he could think to give. He had no idea what it must be like for Harry, and frankly, he hoped he never knew. What Harry must see when he closed his eyes at night…

"Sometimes, I get so sad for him I don't know what to do," Hermione confessed in the same quiet voice as before. "In the past three years he's had to watch three people die right in front of him. I think I would have lost my mind by now if I was him. Cedric, then Sirius…Dumbledore - " She stopped speaking suddenly and shook her head.

"I'm just so afraid that it's going to happen to me," she whispered, her voice weak and broken. His heart constricted painfully at her words, at the desperation and loss written clearly now across her face.

"You're not going to die, Hermione," he stormed, suddenly and inexplicably angry. "How could you even say something like that? How could you think that I…we would let anything happen to you?"

Hermione's eyes closed briefly, as if it was too much work to keep them open any longer. "I'm not afraid it's going to _be_ me," she corrected heavily. "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to watch one of you die right in front of me, and I'm going to be powerless to stop it."

To this admission, Ron had absolutely no answer. He sat perfectly still, breathing shallowly as her words drifted around in the silence once more.

He reached for something, anything to tell her that would reassure her that no one was going to die, but the words didn't come as quickly this time. Perhaps it was because he'd had similar thoughts for the past few weeks. After listening to Harry's nightmares the first few days at the Burrow, he'd started having his own nightmares in which he was frozen in place as Voldemort raised his wand to Harry and Hermione. He'd had to watch them collapse to the floor so many times in his head that it couldn't have seemed more real.

Still, seeing the look of incredible loss on Hermione's face made his entire body hurt. He had to say something. He reached for the first thing that came into his mind.

"I certainly don't plan on going anywhere, and I'm fairly sure Harry's of the same opinion," he said, keeping his tone as light as he could. "So you have nothing to worry about."

Hermione's eyes grew even brighter at his words, and when she spoke, Ron could practically hear the tears she was desperately holding back. "You can't say that, Ron. You can't make promises or assurances this time. Everything is so much different now, and there's no way we can know for sure what's going to happen."

"Well, you're right about that," he reasoned, leaning forward onto his knees so she could see his face more clearly. "But the way I see it, we have two options. One, we can give up before we even start trying, thinking about how we're going to fail and how much we stand to lose." Hermione's brow scrunched up and she looked as if she was about to say something, but he pressed on. "Or two, we can go into this with a little bit of confidence and do the bloody job right so we won't ever have to worry about any of this again."

Hermione began shaking her head, as if she didn't quite believe him. "I don't think it's that simple," she said in a quavering voice.

"Of course it's not, but what other choice do we have?" Ron argued, a blazing look crossing his features.

Hermione's eyes glistened still, but Ron saw that she was beginning to take up his challenge instead of dwelling on the uncertainties. "We have no choices here, and that's what's so infuriating. All of our choices have been taken away from us." she retorted, uncurling her legs finally and leaning toward him as he had just done.

"Of course you have a choice, Hermione. You can choose to stay behind, to return to the school if it opens, to –"

"That's not a choice for me!" she snapped. "If you two go, I'm going. I can't lose either of you!"

"I told you, we're not going any-"

"You can't say that!" she practically shrieked now, leaning so far forward that their knees were barely touching. "You almost died this year, and we were fighting, just like we are now, and it was the most terrified I've ever been in my life!"

Her words hit him with the force of a bludger, making him feel incredibly warm throughout every fiber of his body. She looked as if she was torn between wanting to burst into tears and throttling him with her own two hands, but he didn't spend too much time thinking about how nice it would have been to perish with her fingers wrapped around his neck. He was too busy reeling from the realization that she wouldn't have been so scared for him if she didn't care about him, at least a little bit.

"It was?" he asked, before he could stop himself. If Voldemort himself had appeared right in front of him, he didn't think he'd be able to tear his eyes off of her lovely, now very confused face.

"Well…of course…I mean, you almost died…" she stammered, repeating herself as if it was necessary, or as if he may not have been clear on things the first time. But he'd been clear. He'd been very clear.

She averted her eyes and began inching back on the chair, away from him, and he sprang into action before he knew it. His hand shot out and took hold of her arm, just above her elbow, halting her retreat. Her gaze fixed on his hand as if it was burning her skin, but he didn't remove it.

"I didn't, though," he said, feeling as if his voice was coming from somewhere very far away. It sounded distorted and odd, and he cleared his throat hoping to regain some semblance of normalcy. "I'm alright, see?"

She sighed, expelling the breath from her lungs slowly. "I know, but that doesn't mean it wasn't scary at the time. One minute, you and I were barely speaking to each other, and the next, Harry's running up to me in the corridors telling me that you'd been poisoned and had lost consciousness," she said, shuddering slightly under his touch at the recalled memory. "I was so scared you'd die that night, without giving me a chance to apologize for being such a horrible friend to you all year."

Of all the shocking and surprising things she'd ever said to him, this had them all beat. "What?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What are you on about? If anything, it's me that should be apologizing to you."

"What for?" she asked, now trying to extract herself from his grasp in small movements. "All you did was find a girlfriend. I should have been more supportive of your relationship. After all, I was happy for Ginny and Harry when they got together…"

"It's a completely different thing," he blurted out, interrupting both her comment and her attempts to move away from him.

He supposed his words must have halted her more than his grip, however, because he wasn't holding her all that tightly. Her gaze came up to meet his, and for the first time since their conversation had started, he realized just how close they were sitting. He could see the gold flecks in her dark eyes and the tiniest sprinkling of small freckles across the bridge of her nose.

"How so?" she asked, her voice sounding a bit breathless.

He opened his mouth to respond, but found that the words wouldn't come. He closed his mouth promptly so as not to imitate a gaping fish and finally took his hand off her elbow.

"I just mean, well…I was the one who acted like such a complete git to you after you invited me to the – but I had to go and mess it all up, and then I guess I just got a bit caught up in having someone around who…that is to say –" he muttered quickly, not really knowing how to tell her he'd made the worst mistake of his young life by taking up with Lavendar.

Hermione's eyes were now focused solidly on the carpet in between their feet. "In any case, I felt horrible about things, and it killed me that you could die without knowing how I…I regretted all the time we wasted being mad at each other all year," she replied, her tone so quiet that he almost had to strain to hear her.

This time, when the silence overtook both of them, it was neither uncomfortable nor unpleasant. In a way, Ron felt that it was almost needed. They hadn't talked about last year's complications at all this summer, and although they seemed well past it in some ways, the air finally seemed somewhat clear between them now.

Ron felt better than he had in weeks. He never realized how much he needed Hermione until she removed herself from him. She brought a sense of balance to him that he didn't even know was missing when she wasn't around. All he ever knew was that he couldn't quite function properly unless she was right there keeping him grounded.

"I regret a lot of things about last year, too" he offered finally, staring down at his hands dangling between his knees. He began fiddling with his watch band. "I would have done so many things differently if I could."

"Like what?" Hermione asked softly.

He shrugged, not knowing exactly how to phrase it where he didn't come off as a lovesick schoolboy. Which, ironically, he had been, he thought to himself.

"I don't know specifically, just, you know…stuff," he said, grimacing inwardly at his own cowardice. How hard could it be, really, to tell her he would have liked to have gone to the party with her, as they'd originally planned? How he'd blown it by completely losing it when he heard she'd snogged Krum? How every time he snogged Lavendar he was thinking of her instead?

When he finally found enough courage to look at her again, he found her eyes already on him. She was studying him with a practiced look she reserved strictly for him, and although he found her ability to see into his thoughts so bloody annoying, it excited him all the same. She never looked at anyone else that way. Not even Harry.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Stuff can be very regrettable."

Their eyes held each other's steadily for a long moment, in which Ron could almost hear the gaps filling themselves in. Things began to shift into place slowly, methodically, as if piecing together a particularly trying puzzle.

"I'm glad we're not fighting anymore," she continued after some time in a quiet voice.

"Me too."

Just then, a loud crash sounded above their heads, and they instantly sprang to their feet. Ron grabbed up his wand, quickly following Hermione to the foot of the stairs.

Before they'd reached the second step, though, they heard Harry curse out loud, growling about the ruddy book Ron hated so much.

All the tension seeped out of Ron's body slowly as he propped himself against the wall. Hermione leaned against the opposite railing, her face white and her eyes wide with full alertness.

"We really should put a Muffliato spell on his room, don't you think?" Ron asked, pocketing his wand carefully.

Hermione shook her head, although she looked to be in full agreement. "We've discussed this before. What if something really was to happen in the middle of the night? We need to be prepared for anything."

Ron nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know…it's just, it would be nice to get a good night's sleep for a change."

Hermione gave him a look that hovered somewhere between disapproval and wistfulness.

They stood on the same step, barely inches from each other, and neither of them made a decisive move to be the first to retire upstairs. Hermione's toes disappeared under the hem of her robes, and although the action was completely innocent and normal, Ron's pulse began to speed up crazily.

"I suppose I should turn in," she said, a bit of color rushing to her cheeks. "Best to get our rest while we still can."

"Yeah, I think I'll turn in, too," he said. Then, he remembered the fire in the grate and pulled out his wand again. "Don't want to burn the house down," he explained as he flicked his wand at the grate and extinguished the flames.

Even in the new darkness of the room, he could see the outline of her face. It really didn't matter anyway, seeing as how he could recall, with perfect clarity, every inch of her.

"Well, goodnight then," she said softly, ducking her head and moving past him on the stairs.

"G'night, Hermione," he said, equally as soft, watching the shadow of her body blend slowly into the darkness.

It was only after he heard her door shut that he realized he'd performed wandless magic competently for the first time ever just now. He smiled to himself as he climbed the stairs, marveling in how Hermione managed to make all things possible, simply by standing beside him.

All of the other stuff could wait. As much as he hated the idea of continuing to hide all of the things he felt for her behind the shield of friendship, he would do it because it was the right thing to do. They needed each other way too much to let anything else get in the way. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was enough.

For now.

_Well, there you have it. Chapter One of the new story. I have many ideas for this one, and the next installment will be after a year of them looking for Horcruxes. Don't know when it will be out, though. Quite a busy schedule this week. As always, thanks for reading and giving of your time. Hope you liked it. _


	2. A Place To Rest My Head

**Waiting For You**

_**Thank you to all those who reviewed! I gotta give a personal 'shout out' to my most faithful reviewers…I'm so glad you found me once again. Paulalou, Jenulus, Kelly Marie, Angelic One…it's like seeing old friends after a long time to see your names in my review box. I get a really big grin and act completely silly for a few seconds, then flush from your words of praise. I'm so glad you guys are sticking out another story. I really like this idea, no matter how hard it's been to get it out onto paper (well, the internet). Pretty much the idea came to me because I had like five little stories I wanted to tell, but you guys know me. Short just doesn't work. So I decided to stick them all together as a progression story and see how it works. Hope you like it! Thank you to everyone again for taking time out to review. They mean a lot to me, as do you.**_

**Chapter 2 – A Place To Rest My Head**

"Hermione, I promise, just a little longer and you can rest."

Harry's words reached her through a thick haze that had taken up almost permanent residence in her brain. She nodded dully, wincing at the pain that shot through her skull at the small movement.

She didn't think she'd ever felt so terrible in all her life. Her vision was blurry and she couldn't seem to keep herself walking in a straight line for more than a few minutes. Harry and Ron had been flanking her for the last half-hour, making sure that in her fever she didn't take a less than graceful nosedive directly into the mud.

The cold she'd caught over a month ago had proven to be quite unshakable, and without being able to pop into a healer's clinic or hospital, the cold had turned into a severe case of walking pneumonia. Harry and Ron had done everything they could to try and heal her themselves, but it seemed as if it was beyond their skills. They couldn't even stop anywhere for proper medicine, since they had, for the past four months, been keeping an extremely low profile.

It also didn't help that they'd taken to sleeping in drafty caves, out-of-the-way huts and abandoned houses. Their accommodations had deteriorated with time due to news from home that the Death Eaters were now aware of their purpose, and they had all agreed that staying in hotels or rented rooms were no longer options.

Hermione groaned as she thought of the last time she'd slept in a proper bed, equipped with fluffy pillows and warm, dry blankets. They sounded like absolute heaven right now, and as a coughing fit seized her, racking her body uncontrollably, she closed her eyes and prayed that wherever Harry was leading them had hot water to boot.

She opened her eyes a moment later and saw a look of concern shoot between Harry and Ron. Harry pulled his own cloak off and quickly draped it across Hermione's shoulders, eliciting a very weak smile from her at his thoughtfulness. Ron's hand moved to the small of her back, holding her as straight as he could without making her uncomfortable. Even through the haze invading her brain she could still feel the warmth radiating from the nearness of him.

"This is insane," she heard Ron grumble as she turned away from him to sneeze into her last clean handkerchief. "You're too sick to go any further. Where in blazes are we headed anyway, Harry?"

Harry consulted a piece of parchment he'd pulled from his pocket for a moment, squinting in the low light provided from the setting October sun. "Just up ahead there should be a fork in the path, and we stick to the right. After that, we only have about another five minute walk, tops." His eyes flickered to Hermione, searching her weary face to see if she could handle it. "Feeling up to a bit more, Hermione?" he asked lightly, although the anxiousness he tried to keep out of his tone slipped in nonetheless.

"I'm fine," she said, feeling nothing of the sort. She couldn't let them down, though. It had been a long journey, and none of them were exactly operating at full potential. Harry's left arm was almost completely covered in long, badly healing scrapes and scratches – courtesy of a particularly nasty fight with a herd of Warblings in the dark forest of a small city in northern Spain. That had been when he'd found their third horcrux, so in the end it had been worth it, but Harry was still favoring the arm to the point where Hermione was sure it was infected.

Ron had not fared any better. He'd broken his ankle during the same trip, but that had been something Hermione had known how to fix. It still bothered him when the weather turned cold and rainy, though, and there was a fierce gash on the side of his neck that refused to heal properly.

Hermione took a quick moment to look over both of the boys, and an overwhelming sadness swept through her. None of them should have to be dealing with any of this, but here they were. Battered, bruised, cold, hungry and tired…searching for the very last of the horcruxes that they needed to destroy.

If there was one bright spot in all of this, that would have to be it. Their journey was almost over; she could feel it. They would find the last piece and be able to go home for some real rest. She couldn't wait to see her parents again, Ginny, the twins…

Looking over at Harry, she felt another wave of sadness as she remembered Ginny's last letter to them. Harry's face as Hermione had read it aloud was painful to watch. He had stared at her as she read, almost as if he could see Ginny if he concentrated hard enough.

"You're not fine," Ron said, interrupting her thoughts. "You haven't eaten properly in over two days, and you haven't slept through the night in over four."

"I just need to sit still for a day or two, and I'll be back to my normal self," she said, attempting to smile reassuringly at him. He grunted again, although his arm moved from the small of her back to the side of her waist, giving her more of his body heat in the process.

"I know you're going to bite my head off again," said Harry, shooting her a look out of the corner of his eye, "but I still say that you should go home –"

"And I've told you that's not an option," she interrupted firmly. "So you can stop bringing it up."

Harry and Ron shared another look, but this time it wasn't out of concern. This look clearly stated that they thought she was mental, and the most stubborn person they'd ever met. She didn't care, though. They could think whatever they wanted, as long as they weren't packing her up and sending her home – or worse, abandoning her in the middle of the night for her 'own good'.

"Now you're sure this old wizard is going to come through with the information," Ron said to Harry, changing the subject as he always did when Harry brought up Hermione going home. "Lupin checked him out and everything?"

"I got his owl a week ago," answered Harry, tucking the parchment he'd been holding back into his pocket. "He said this Ivan Rotovski is practically a legend in the artifacts world over here. If anyone can follow up on the lead we have, it's him."

Ron nodded, then looked about suddenly as if realizing something for the first time. "And where exactly is 'over here' Harry? The last I remember, we were in Switzerland."

Hermione tried to cut through the haze in her brain long enough to focus on their conversation. She'd been drifting in and out since fending off Harry's hundredth request for her to return home, and now she looked around them as well. She understood Ron's confusion well; they had been to so many places in the past year that they were all starting to blend together into one long road that didn't seem to have an end.

Harry looked uncomfortable for a moment, then coughed and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

"What was that?" Ron asked.

"I, uh – I said, we're in Bulgaria," replied Harry, busying himself by reaching into his pocket for the piece of parchment again.

Hermione almost tripped over her own feet when Ron stopped walking abruptly.

"Sorry," he said quickly, righting her before she could move too far from his side. His gaze swung to Harry, who was still not looking at him. "Did you say Bulgaria?" he asked, his tone laced with tension.

Harry nodded, finally meeting his eyes. "This Rotovski fellow lives about twenty miles from here. I just figured with Hermione being as sick as she is, we needed to go somewhere where we could lay low for a few days while she gets stronger."

Ron gaped at Harry, silent accusation shining in his narrowed eyes. "And just where are we going to lay low, then?"

"Viktor Krum's house," Harry said simply, squaring his shoulders as if he expected an onslaught from Ron in the next instant.

Hermione felt the thick fuzziness leave her brain long enough to comprehend Harry's words. "We're going to Viktor's?" she asked, her whole body reacting to the idea. It was not out of any lingering feelings or affections that she suddenly felt relieved; she just knew that at Viktor's they would be safe and well looked-after. She could almost feel the soft bedding against her skin as she spoke.

Ron's eyes snapped to hers, and he didn't look pleased. She hadn't meant to sound so breathy and hopeful…she was just glad to know they'd be somewhere warm very, very soon, is all.

"I owled him after I received Lupin's letter," explained Harry, not looking the least bit apologetic any longer. "You were already so sick, and I knew that we needed to go somewhere to get some rest for a while. He got back to me a couple of days ago, and we're welcome to stay as long as we want."

"I'm sure we are," muttered Ron, looking thoroughly put out. His eyes were still on Hermione, and she was too tired to raise her usual objections to his completely irrational behavior as far as Viktor was concerned.

"Ron, we all need a bit of a break, and if Viktor's willing to house us for a few days, I say it's some of the best luck we've had in a long while," Harry said, shooting a quick glance at Hermione before meeting Ron's fierce gaze.

Ron remained silent for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. Then, straightening his own shoulders and giving Hermione a small smile, he resumed his pace. "Then I say let's get going so we can be there before supper."

Hermione felt herself being guided along by his arm once more, although now she was so close against him that she was afraid she'd step on his feet with every step. She tried hard to keep all thoughts out of her mind, since it hurt so much as it was…but they intruded regardless.

She'd be seeing Viktor again, and she was not so blind or stupid that she didn't see how uncomfortable Ron was with the notion.

She couldn't worry about any of that right now. Things were too serious anyway to think that this visit would be anything but a repast so they could get stronger for the last part of their search. Besides, who was to say that Viktor had anything but friendly thoughts for her after all this time? Why worry about things that might not even be?

As they came to the fork in the path that Harry had mentioned earlier, Hermione could see a rather large looking estate standing darkly in the distance.

"House?" Ron growled, staring moodily ahead at the towering architecture. "That's a bloody castle."

Harry pocketed the parchment once more and squeezed Hermione's elbow in support. "We'll be there in a few minutes, alright?" he asked, nodding encouragingly and continuing his former pace on the path.

"Sounds good to me," she replied wearily, earning her a quick look from Ron, his tense glare sliding away as if it had never been there in the first place.

"C'mon," he said, moving them forward behind Harry. "And once we get there, you're going straight to bed. No reunions tonight."

"Whatever you say," she said thickly, feeling the lightheadedness overwhelming her once more. Now that they were so close to their destination, her legs felt as if they were made of lead and her chest ached with the chill that had slipped into the night air.

By the time they reached the massive oak doors of Viktor's home, she was ready to sleep clear until next week. She watched through glassy eyes as Harry pulled on the thick, golden rope to the right of the door, and heard the chimes he'd set off from what seemed like an impossible distance away.

She swayed a bit on her feet, but didn't get too far since Ron was still positioned solidly up against her side. She turned and gave him a grateful smile, and found him already looking at her with a guarded expression in his eyes.

In the next instant, the doors were pulled open from the inside, and seconds later she found her gaze traveling from Ron's face to that of the first boy she'd ever kissed. Her first thought was that she must look a fright, her hair tangled and messy, her face streaked with dirt and her clothes torn and shoddy looking from the intense wear and tear of their travels.

Her next thought was that Viktor was no longer a boy. His face had matured into a quiet strength that suited him, and judging from the wide smile on his face, he was happy to see them. To see her.

The smile quickly faded when his eyes had taken in their appearances, and as his gaze met hers with intense concern shining in their dark depths, she felt all of the strength she possessed flee from her in one, powerful movement. Thought tumbled over thought, her vision swam dangerously, and then she knew no more.

* * *

Her dreams were riddled with visions of chaos and destruction, as they had been for the last several months. No matter how hard she tried to fight them off, they came still – robbing her of any true rest. From somewhere outside herself, she could hear her own cries and could see her own thrashing about. One minute she was freezing, pulling the heavy blankets as tightly around her as she could, and the next minute she was kicking them off passionately, feeling trapped and as if she was burning slowly from the inside out.

There were several times she was sure she had woken briefly, always seeing Ron or Harry sitting in a chair across the room. Their constant presence soothed her back into a restless sleep, and although she couldn't be sure they stayed, somehow she knew they did.

Finally, once she'd given up hope of ever having a decent sleep again, she fell blissfully into a deep unconsciousness that had neither visions nor dreams. She became completely unaware of anything surrounding her, and although she still felt a bit cold from time to time, her brain had finally registered that she was safe. She allowed the sensation to overtake her, and once again, she knew nothing else but the softness of the pillows surrounding her head.

The first thing she became fully aware of was warm sunlight falling onto her face. She struggled to open her eyes, and was surprised at once by the lavishness of the room she'd been placed in. It was roughly the size of the entire dormitory at Hogwarts, and was furnished carefully with antiques.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, aware that for the first time in over a month her chest did not ache when she breathed. It was such an exhilarating feeling that she breathed in again, deeply, and rejoiced when she remained ache-free. She smiled, pushing her hair out of her eyes and glancing out the large windows across from her bed to see a very blue sky blanketing the outside world.

"Now that's much better."

She turned to the doorway at the sound and smiled again when she saw Viktor leaning against the doorframe. "Hello, Viktor."

"Hello, Hermione," he said gently, as if he spoke any louder she would break into a million pieces. "I can't tell you how good it is to see you smile. You gave us all quite a scare a few nights ago."

"A few nights?" she asked, incredulously. "Just how long have I been asleep?"

"Three," Viktor answered, his eyes flashing briefly. "For a while there, we thought we'd have to take you to the hospital whether it exposed all of you or not. Harry was absolutely beside himself over the whole situation."

Hermione sighed and moved the pillows behind her so she'd be propped up. "Harry worries too much. I'm a tough girl…all I needed was some rest."

"That's what Ron told him," Viktor said, smiling. "And I quite agree. We both knew that you'd never forgive yourself if someone were to find out you were here because they had to take you somewhere public. Besides," he added, crossing his arms over his chest. "I have a fully stocked medical library just downstairs. One of the necessities of a professional athlete."

She smiled again at him, then a sudden thought struck her. "You called me Hermione."

Viktor laughed, and the sound reverberated throughout the room. Hermione decided he had a very pleasant laugh, one that made her feel completely safe and warm. "Well, I suppose it's better than Herm-o-ninny, isn't it?" he asked, winking at her.

"I suppose so," she replied, laughing a bit in return. She was amazed to realize she could laugh and not have it start an intense coughing fit.

"I have gotten much practice with my English at my new job," he explained, finally stepping into the room and taking the chair next to the wall closer to her bed. "I do not play Quidditch any longer, since there is not much need for sports at the moment."

"Oh? What do you do now, then?" she asked.

"I work for the Department of International Cooperation," he explained, shrugging slightly. "Not very exciting, but they recruited me because of my, shall we say, high profile status."

"I suppose that's what you get for being a world-famous seeker."

Hermione turned toward the door again, this time at the sound of Ron's voice. He was leaning against the doorframe in much the same way Viktor had been moments ago, although there was no welcoming smile on his face. His eyes were trained steadily on Viktor, his hands jammed into his pockets.

"Good morning, Ron," Viktor said in greeting. "I trust you slept well."

"How could I not? Beats sleeping on cold, dirty floors," Ron replied in a tight voice. His eyes finally traveled over to Hermione, who could see the dark look leave his eyes almost instantly. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," she said, smiling at him. "Really," she added when he didn't look quite convinced. "Look, I'm sitting up, and I can breathe properly…not a coughing fit or a sniffle to be had."

Ron's shoulders seemed to visibly relax before her eyes, and he nodded imperceptibly. "Good. You shouldn't push too hard or too fast, though. Take things slow."

"I won't get out of bed doctor," she said, straightening her covers. "Don't worry; I don't ever want to feel like that again."

Viktor smiled at her. "You are welcome here as long as it takes to get better," he said, rising out of his chair.

"I don't know how to thank you for all that you've done, Viktor," she said gratefully, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Viktor continued to smile down at her and for a brief moment, Hermione thought he was going to take her hand. Her heart sped up crazily, knowing that Ron was watching every movement from the doorway, and she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. True, a gesture like that could be considered friendly, but she knew Ron wouldn't see it that way.

"There is no need to thank me, Hermione," Viktor said, brushing off her comment. "We're friends, aren't we?"

For some reason, her eyes flashed quickly to Ron. He was standing completely still against the doorframe, watching her with a level gaze. Flustered, she turned back to Viktor and smiled up at him. "Of course we are."

"Well, I'm going to see to breakfast. Is there anything special you would like?" he asked, backing away from her bedside.

"Food?" she asked, her mind running over the last time she'd eaten anything. Her stomach growled in response, letting her know it had been much too long. "Anything would be fine, really."

"I'm going to have my cook prepare something special for you, but you are not to come down to eat today. I'll bring it up when it's ready," he said, reaching the doorway which Ron was still blocking.

"Actually, I'll bring it up," Ron said suddenly, pushing away from the doorframe. "Harry wanted to talk to you about the town Rotovski's living in…the layout, stuff like that."

Hermione could only look on as the two of them appeared to size each other up. Ron had about four inches of height on Viktor, but Viktor seemed to take up more space.

"Fine," said Viktor, turning to give her one last smile. "I'll check on you later, then."

Hermione returned his smile and watched as Viktor excused himself past Ron, who didn't seem to step aside enough to give him proper space to exit the room. Once Viktor had gone, Ron turned his attention back to her.

"Are you really feeling alright?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. Hermione wondered, not for the first time, at the complexity of Ronald Weasley. One minute he was staring daggers into someone from across a room, and the next he looked as if everything rested on her reply to his simple question.

"I'm really feeling alright," she assured him. "I guess that's what three days of sleep will do to a person."

He huffed and removed his hands from his pockets, crossing the room to the chair Viktor had vacated. "You scared the hell out of us, you know," he said, his voice dropping considerably. "At first you wouldn't wake up, then you wouldn't go back to sleep, and it was only after about the tenth round of potion that you didn't thrash about whenever you closed your eyes."

"Sorry," she said quietly, seeing the severe look cross his features. "It must have been the fever."

"Well, you don't have one any longer, so that means you're on your way back," he said, his eyes scanning over her face quickly. "You look better than you have in months."

"Thanks," she said lightly, sarcastically. "You know just what to say to a girl."

"No, I didn't mean it like –"

"I was kidding, Ron," she said, giggling at the horrified look on his face. "But I'm sure you're right either way. I must look a sight." Her hands moved up to her hair, and she winced when they landed upon matted, knotty patches on the top of her head.

Ron reached up and removed her hands from her head, placing them on her lap. "I say you've never looked better," he said resolutely, giving her hands a squeeze before releasing them.

"Liar," she said, smiling at him.

"Hey, you're awake and you're getting better. I wouldn't care if your nose was clear on the other side of your head at this point," he said.

"Still, I want to take a bath in the worst way," she said, almost able to feel the hot, soapy water as she lay there. "Is there a bathroom on this floor?"

Ron grunted, rolling his eyes. "On the floor? There's practically one in every room," he said, gesturing to a door next to the main one. "It seems your friend Viktor is doing quite well for himself."

Hermione could hear the irritation in his voice, and although she understood where it was coming from, she didn't want to deal with any tensions between the two of them just yet as far as Viktor was concerned. She didn't have that kind of strength.

"Our friend, Ron. He's helping us all out here," she reasoned, giving him a pointed look. Ron, to his credit, didn't say anything in return, but he did get out of his chair all the same.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then," he said, looking everywhere else but at her. "Need any help getting out of bed or anything?"

"No, I'll be fine," she said, hating the thought of getting out of the warm bed, but knowing that after a bath the world would seem like a completely different place.

"Right. So I'll give you about an hour, and then I'll bring up breakfast," he said, walking toward the door. "Maybe I'll bring mine up too. Give you some company."

"Thanks," she said, wondering if he was going to ask Harry to join them. Her pulse sped up when she thought of sharing a quiet meal with just Ron, sitting on her bed…

"Well, get to it Granger," he said, gesturing toward the bathroom door. "It'll be nice to see your face again, assuming it's still there under that layer of dirt."

She reached behind her to grab a pillow, then realized she didn't have the strength to straighten it much less toss it. He grinned at her and closed the door behind him as he left, leaving her with a funny ache deep in her stomach and she couldn't decide whether it was from her hunger, or the memory of his smile.

* * *

The next night she finally felt strong enough, or restless enough, to join them downstairs. She was bored, and although her three caretakers had kept up a steady stream of visits, she longed to leave the confines of the room.

She made her way down the large, winding staircase at suppertime, marveling once again at the expanse of Viktor's home. It seemed a bit much for someone who lived on his own, but she assumed that he'd never want for money from his Quidditch playing days.

As soon as she'd reached the bottom of the stairs leading into the main foyer, she saw Viktor emerge from a door to her right. He smiled in greeting at her and crossed over to her quickly.

"Are you ready for your first supper out of bed?" he asked, gesturing toward a long hallway.

"More than ready," she said, returning his smile and walking in pace with him down the dimly lit corridor. "I must say, Viktor, you've made quite a home for yourself here."

"They are just things," he said nonchalantly, shrugging as if his surroundings were of no consequence. "But thank you."

They reached a set of large, gilded doors and Viktor stopped in front of them. "You are feeling better, then?" he asked, looking over her with a practiced eye.

"Thanks to you," she said, lowering her gaze from his. For some reason, she felt suddenly shy and self-conscious. Perhaps it was the relative darkness of the hallway, or the way in which his eyes slid over her features…either way, it created a sort of intimacy which she was not quite prepared for. It was far from an unpleasant feeling, and it brought back memories from when they'd first met.

He'd been the first person to ever look at her as a girl; to see past the bookish, bossy know-it-all everyone thought her to be. He'd lavished attention onto her and made her feel special in a way that had been her awakening of sorts.

Now, standing here with him, she felt a wave of affection wash over her. Her stomach did a little flip as she finally raised her eyes to his and saw him watching her closely. His hand came up slowly, and she watched in mild fascination as he touched her forehead gently.

"No sign of the fever any more," he said quietly, his voice creating more of the feeling of intimacy she'd felt upon entering the hall. "Your face is as lovely as it ever was."

His hand remained against her skin, brushing lightly over her forehead and down the side of her face. She remained rooted to the spot, unable to breathe properly or form a coherent thought.

She heard footsteps down the corridor and quickly snapped back to the present moment. Her eyes darted down the long passageway, and she saw Harry and Ron come into view, chatting quietly to each other. They both stopped, however, when they saw Viktor and Hermione standing huddled close together in the low light given off by the wall scones.

Hermione's eyes instantly focused on Ron, who looked as if he had become victim to a particularly powerful leg-locker curse. She saw his hands clench into tight fists at his sides, and before she knew what she was doing, she stepped away from Viktor to give the appearance of personal space.

Harry stood in silence by Ron's side, his quizzical gaze also fixed on her face. He seemed to be asking her a wordless question, one that she didn't feel prepared to answer in the slightest. He broke their eye contact a moment later, clearing his throat and continuing down the hall toward them. Ron, however, remained where he stood.

"Supper ready?" Harry asked as he approached them. Viktor nodded, opening the intricate doors and ushering Harry inside. With one last look at Hermione, he entered the dining hall behind Harry. Hermione stood completely still, her gaze now focused directly on the floor in front of her feet.

"Looks like you're all better," said Ron finally, moving with slow, deliberate steps toward her. "Your face is positively glowing."

"I –" she began, then stopped abruptly. She had no idea what it was she wanted to say to him. The silence stretched between them uncomfortably, in which Ron did his best to stare clear through her as she stood propped against the wall.

"A bit flustered?" he asked, a slightly cold edge to his voice. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll feel better after the five course meal Viktor's personal chef cooked up for us." His eyes flashed dangerously as he stepped by her. "It seems there's nothing Viktor goes without around here. Privileged life and all that."

Hermione sighed heavily as Ron swooped past her. She could almost feel his anger radiating off of his skin. She stared after him, her thoughts a jumbled mass of confusion, and suddenly, through all of the questions and uncertainty, she felt a swift wave of her own anger.

Why should she feel bad about standing in a hallway with Viktor? Why should she feel guilty that she'd enjoyed his gentle attention and his obvious concern? There was nothing wrong with what was happening, and although she knew that there were unsettled things between her and Ron, was she really supposed to turn a cold shoulder to Viktor when he was being so attentive and sweet?

She let the thoughts empty from her head as she made her way into the dining hall. She didn't want to think about any of that right now. Right now, she wanted to enjoy the first meal she'd eaten out of bed in several days.

She took the seat to Viktor's left, and found herself staring across the table directly into Ron's darkening eyes. Harry busied himself with his napkin, ostensibly staying out of the entire mess.

"I hope you like roast duck and potatoes," Viktor said, reaching forward to uncover one of the silver platters. "It's the chef's specialty."

"Personally, I feel roast duck has gone out of fashion," said Ron, adopting a snobbish tone and a raise to his brow that Hermione knew for a fact was entirely for her benefit. "I've eaten it so often I'm not sure I could endure it one more night."

Hermione scowled at him, tossing her napkin into her lap. She didn't care if he was mad at her or not, but to behave so childishly to Viktor when all he'd done so far was help them…

Viktor appeared unfazed by Ron's obvious attitude. "Well, then I'm glad I had the chef prepare a chicken as well. That way, everyone gets what they want."

Ron muttered something under his breath, which Viktor pointedly ignored, and they began their meal. Harry looked as if he would rather be anywhere else but where he was, and he kept glancing at his wristwatch as if he had somewhere of consequence to be very shortly. Hermione also ate in silence, never raising her eyes much further than the edge of her plate.

"So, Harry…did you get in touch with Rotovski?" Viktor asked, filling his goblet with a very dark wine from a glass decanter. "I saw your owl leaving early this morning."

"I heard back from him after lunch," said Harry. "He says he wants to meet tomorrow at a pub outside of Vlascow."

Hermione finally looked up from her plate at the announcement. "You didn't tell me that when you came up before dinner," she said.

Harry shrugged, but lowered his eyes all the same. "Well, I don't think you'll be ready to go out again so soon after getting better…it just didn't occur to me to bring it up."

Hermione's lips drew into a thin line as she stared him down. "Don't you think I should be the one to say whether or not I'm ready for something?" she asked tightly.

"Hermione, you were in and out of consciousness for three days. Tonight's the first night you've gotten out of bed. I don't think it's terrible of me to want you to get a few more days of rest before we have to head out again," Harry argued lightly.

She had to wring her napkin in her lap to keep her temper under control. He wasn't being terrible. He was just being overprotective, as he always was. He really did have her best interests at heart, and a few more days of rest is certainly what she'd request if he'd been the one who had taken up with a fever.

Still, she didn't want to be excluded. She'd had several nightmares along those lines ever since they'd started their search together…Harry and Ron sneaking off in the middle of the night to continue alone, leaving her behind so she would be safe…

"Harry's right," Ron chimed in, pinning her with his own gaze. "You're still on the mend, and it's only a meeting. We're going to tell you everything when we get back anyway. Why chance going out in this weather sooner than you have to?"

They were both right, but she hated admitting defeat. More than that, she hated thinking that something would happen to them before they got back, and she wouldn't have been there, right beside them.

"Fine," she said finally, picking up her fork again. "But I want a full report. I don't want you keeping anything from me because you don't think I'm strong enough, or something equally as silly."

Harry smiled at her, and the conversation was effectively dropped. Hermione sighed resignedly, reaching for the decanter of wine. She gave Harry and Ron very pointed looks that practically dared one of them to say something about her drinking a glass while she was still getting over being sick, but to their credit, they remained silent on the subject. They even tilted their own glasses toward her when she offered to pour them some as well.

"I think you'll like this vintage," said Viktor, drawing Hermione's attention for the first time since their hallway encounter. She had gotten so used to it being the three of them over the last year that sometimes everyone else simply faded away.

"What is it?" she asked politely, examining the liquid through the thick crystal.

"A '47 French Noir," Viktor replied, refilling his own goblet. "My uncle travels extensively through France every year, and my cellar is full to bursting with bottles just like this."

Ron snorted into his goblet, earning him another scowl. "So you don't mind if we finish the lot of this, then?" he asked, grinning wryly and emptying the contents in one long gulp.

"Not at all," said Viktor, reaching to refill his glass. "Speaking of France, Hermione wrote me that your oldest brother married Fleur Delacour last summer."

"That he did," Ron replied, giving Hermione a quick look that clearly implied that she should have kept family business within the family.

"A happy occasion in not so happy times," Viktor mused, swirling the dark liquid around as he stared into it. "Please pass on my sincerest congratulations when you speak with them next."

Ron looked as if the last thing he wanted to do was respond to Viktor's kind gesture. Hermione fixed him with a look that she was sure he could feel even though he was no longer looking at her, and she silently urged him to do the right thing.

"Thank you," he said quickly, nodding once in Viktor's general direction. "I'll do that."

Hermione sighed, feeling some of the tension ease out of her shoulders. She didn't know how much longer she could sit at the table with the two of them and maintain her composure. Every word Viktor uttered, she checked over in her head to see if it was something Ron would find offense with. Every look Ron shot out of the corner of his eye, she glanced at Viktor to see if he noticed he was being glared at. It was becoming quite dizzying, and after drinking most of her wine, she felt an overwhelming desire to get up and clear her head.

"Hermione, you look pale," Viktor commented, studying her closely. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied, including Ron and Harry in her assuring look. "I think I may just need a bit of a walk. I've been so still for days that I can't seem to sit any longer."

"It's too cold to go out," said Ron, gesturing out the window behind her as if to prove his point. "You'll catch your death."

"What if I showed you my home?" offered Viktor, tossing his napkin on top of his plate. "You haven't had a chance to see anything of it besides your room, and I would very much like you to see the rest."

"I…uh, I suppose –" she stammered, looking first at Harry, who was of no help whatsoever. He was busy spearing a roasted potato onto his fork and moving it slowly about his plate with the obvious intention of staying as far out of this as he could while still remaining in the room.

Then she looked to Ron, although it was the last thing she wanted to do. Her eyes seemed drawn to him of their own accord…at all times, it seemed. He was watching her face closely, but she couldn't tell if he was angry or simply waiting to hear what her response would be.

Hermione fiddled with her napkin as it rested in her lap. She had to say something else soon, or she would look like a complete dolt. It was a simple question that required a simple answer, one that was asked with only the purest, hospitable intentions, and yet, she couldn't help feeling that so much more hinged on her answer.

"I promise I won't keep you up late," Viktor smiled, mistaking her pause. "We can stop the tour whenever you feel you've had enough."

"Of-of course," she said hastily, pushing up suddenly out of her chair. Her body felt as if it was too big for her skin, and she was likely to jump out of it if she sat any longer across from Ron's piercing gaze. "I'd love to see your home."

"Very well then," said Viktor, standing as well and gesturing ahead of him. "After you."

Hermione stepped past him into the hallway, refusing to look at Ron again before she left. She was only seeing the rest of the house, for pity's sake, not running off to marry the man. She had nothing whatsoever to be sorry for, or hesitant about. She was walking around the house that would be her recovery zone for the next few days…it was actually a wise choice. Familiarizing herself with her surroundings…

She kept repeating this to herself as Viktor led her away from the dining hall and back down the long corridor.

"I'm eager to show you my greenhouse," said Viktor, looking thoroughly pleased she'd agreed to the walk. "It is inside the main house, so we don't have to worry about the weather outside…and you'll have to forgive me in advance if I seem boastful of it."

"I'm sure it's lovely," said Hermione, forcing herself not to turn around and see if Ron had followed them out into the hallway. "What inspired you to have a greenhouse?"

Viktor smiled again, guiding her toward another hallway by putting his hand on the small of her back. "My time at Hogwarts, actually. I spent some time in the greenhouses on the grounds and I found it a peaceful reprieve from…well, everything."

"You mean your fan club," teased Hermione, feeling herself relaxing slightly at the memory of his awkwardness around the doting female population of Hogwarts. "A quiet place to go to escape hordes of autograph-seeking females."

"Sometimes," Viktor admitted, ducking his head slightly. "But I usually used the library for that sort of thing." He glanced quickly at her out of the corner of his eye. "I'm very thankful that I did, too."

Hermione felt herself blushing again, and wondered at his ability to make it seem as if a second hadn't passed since they'd last seen each other, instead of four years. She didn't quite know what to say to his sweet sentiment, so she ducked her own head and remained silent. She felt his hand on her back once more, this time guiding her to a set of doors that were very similar to the set outside the dining hall.

Viktor pushed them open, stepping aside so she could enter before him. She walked past him, thinking that she could get used to the chivalrous attentions of a true gentleman. In the next instant, however, all thoughts of chivalry were erased from her mind when she got her first glimpse of the magnificent greenhouse Viktor had constructed for himself.

"Oh my," she exclaimed quietly, not knowing where to turn her attention first. There were long rows of large, exotic looking plants that burst forth in every color she'd ever heard of…sweeping vines covering the walls and benches situated throughout the expansive room…a glittering night sky for a ceiling…

"Wait, is that –"

"An enchanted ceiling," Viktor finished for her, smiling at her obvious pleasure in the room. "I told you, I was quite impressed with Hogwarts during my stay there. The ceiling of the Great Hall was one of my favorite things about the school, and I figured the best place to have one would be in this room."

Hermione felt a tremendous tug in her chest as she stared enthralled at the glittering stars overhead. Hogwarts seemed very far away right now, not just in distance but in time and space as well. She had always loved going back to school, and despite Ron and Harry's assumptions it wasn't because of the work. Hogwarts had been her home away from home for so long that its absence was like a hole inside her that she couldn't fill.

"The ceiling was one of my favorite things, too," she said softly. "From the minute I was brought into the Great Hall as a first year…there was something about it that seemed more magical to me than anything else in the wizarding world."

"I take it you approve of my little hideaway?" Viktor said, coming over to join her. "It's the only spot in my whole house that I can think clearly sometimes."

"I love it, Viktor. It's very peaceful," she said, letting her fingers trail over a long vine spiraling over an enormous vase. "Thank you for showing me."

"I knew you would be the only person who could fully appreciate it," he said, giving her a shy smile.

Hermione smiled back, and followed his lead as he walked her once around the entire room. He explained all of the different plants with the enthusiasm and knowledge of a true herbologist, and she was impressed that he'd learned so much about his hobby. The care and attention he gave to the beautiful, living things was evident in their appearance and in his voice. She studied him almost as much as the plants as they toured the room, and found that he'd grown into an exceptional man in their time apart.

Once they'd circled the entire room, he led her to a bench nestled between two vibrant trees whose branches shimmered in waves and had the appearance of a waterfall. Hermione reached out to touch one of the branches, and to her utter amazement, found it to be, in fact, wet to the touch.

"What on Earth is this?" she asked, flustered as she pulled her hand back quickly.

"It's a Weeping Valecortia. They are extremely rare and only grow on the Myrian Islands. A few years ago I was playing over there and saw these in the main courtyard of their Minister," he said, sitting on the bench behind them. "I knew I had to have one."

Hermione sat next to him, her attention still focused on the incredible shimmering branches. "I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful."

"I quite agree."

Hermione felt the closeness of his body as acutely as she heard the drop in his tone. She turned slowly to face him and found his eyes on her. She tried to swallow the nervousness she suddenly felt and forced herself not to look away like a silly schoolgirl.

"Although I was not pleased with the circumstances surrounding your unexpected visit, I am glad that you are here," said Viktor, holding her gaze steadily. "I have missed you very much…more than I thought I would have."

"I've missed you too," she said, her hands twisting together in her lap. "It was nice writing to you all these years, but to be here, to see your home…"

"May I make a confession?" Viktor asked.

She nodded, her mind whirling dizzyingly. This night was making her feel things she hadn't felt in such a long time, from someone completely different than who usually made her feel this way.

"This greenhouse was built because it reminds me of the best time of my life. When I was at Hogwarts, with you…you are my favorite memory, Hermione," he said, pulling his gaze off her and looking shyly at the ground below his feet.

Hermione's heart began hammering so hard against her ribs that she was afraid it would burst from her chest. No one had ever said anything so sweet, so wonderful to her in her entire life. To be someone's favorite memory…

"Viktor, that's…I don't know what to say –" she stammered, finding it nearly impossible to form a coherent thought.

"You don't have to say anything. I promised myself that if I was ever fortunate enough to see you again, I would tell you how much our time together meant to me. How much it still means to me," he added, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

She looked around her, almost not believing that this was happening. Just a few days ago she was sleeping on a dirt floor of a hut somewhere in Switzerland, and now here she was, in this amazing place listening to this amazing man say the most amazing things.

Suddenly, the connection clicked into place. She and Viktor had shared their first kiss outside of the greenhouses after the Yule Ball in her fourth year. She had suggested a walk - after Ron had insulted Viktor and attacked his motives for taking her to the dance - in an effort to shake off the horrifying possibility that it was true in the slightest.

She'd had nothing to worry about. Viktor had taken her into his arms and kissed her gently, giving her the first kiss she'd always dreamed about. He had been a perfect gentleman, though, and had not attempted to kiss her again until he was given permission.

Her affection for him grew in one swift, fluid moment, making her see him through the eyes of a woman now instead of a girl. He was still looking at his feet, shuffling them slowly in the deep, rich grass.

"I think about our year together often, too," she admitted softly, finally. "You were the first person to treat me like a lady, and I have to admit, it felt wonderful."

Viktor's gaze snapped up to meet hers, and she smiled at him. "Being friends with two boys isn't easy, you know. They sometimes have difficulty seeing me as a girl – in their minds, I'm just one of them."

"They are blind fools, then," he said, reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear. "You are lovely to the point of distraction."

Hermione felt the flush stain her cheeks before she could will it away. He had to stop talking like this, or she'd get very, very used to it.

"May I ask you something, Hermione?" he continued, a hesitant look entering his eyes.

Her brow raised in confusion. "Of course you can."

"Well, when I came to Hogwarts for the tournament, I had assumed you and Harry were a couple. You were always together and you spoke of him constantly…I made the mistake of thinking that meant you were together, although now that I think back on it, there was nothing romantic in the way you two behaved around each other," he explained, looking even more hesitant as he spoke.

"I don't hear a question in there," she teased lightly. "Are you trying to ask if we're a couple now?"

"No, it's obvious you are friends. The way he worried over you while you were sick is how I assume a brother would worry for his sister…" He paused for a moment, then continued, his gaze fixed to hers. "Ron, however, behaved quite differently."

If the entire ceiling were to come crashing down around her, she didn't think she'd be able to move. Viktor's words set her blood pounding in her veins and she dreaded the question she knew was coming.

"Is there something between you and Ron, Hermione?" Viktor asked finally, searching her face with his eyes for the answer before she'd even had time to think up a proper one. She squirmed uncomfortably on the bench, suddenly feeling hot and cold all at the same time.

"Why would you think that?" she asked, more to stall for time to compose an honest response than anything else.

Viktor shrugged, but his eyes never left her face. "He doesn't seem to like me very much, and every time I went up to your room to check on you, he was sitting on the edge of your bed, staring down at you as if he could make you well again by sheer will."

"We're friends. He was just worried about me," she reasoned, trying to believe her own words. Anything else would lead her into that complicated territory she'd sworn she would stay out of until this whole ordeal was over and they were safe, once and for all.

Viktor nodded slowly. "Yes, but that doesn't explain why he doesn't like when I look at you, or talk to you. I think he would have hit me if he had the chance tonight at dinner."

"He's very protective. You should have seen how he behaved when his little sister started dating…" she explained, thinking that at least this part was incredibly true.

Another nod from Viktor, and she removed her gaze from his. "Ron and I have a complicated friendship, but that is all it is." Again, she knew this was the truth. They were just friends. Neither had said anything differently, and even if they wanted more, they couldn't do anything about it now. They were traveling the world, searching for horcruxes, and when they returned home, there would be a war to plan for. There was no time for relationships and emotions and everything else that came with confessions and declarations.

"I must admit that I'm relieved to hear that," Viktor said softly, moving closer to her on the bench. "I know you are leaving in a few days, but I would like to see you again, and as often as I can."

Hermione's pulse began jumping again at his nearness. His hand was moving slowly toward hers, and when it finally made contact, she felt a jolt go through her skin that thrilled her to her very core.

Still, the harsh reality of her situation was pressing down on her, warning her to say something before he got the wrong idea.

"Viktor, as you said, we'll be leaving in a few days, and I don't know how long it's going to take to find what we're looking for. Then, even when we do find it, we have to return home and help Harry prepare for the final battle. We'll be in the middle of a war…I just don't see how I would be able to give my focus to anything else, no matter how much I might want to," she said quietly, thrilling in the way his thumb was drawing small circles on the top of her hand.

"Well then, perhaps we should appreciate what little time we do have together, without a war to fight or an evil wizard to defeat," he said, raising her hand to his lips and softly kissing it. He still looked incredibly shy, but she was getting used to the way his confidence pushed through his first instinct to remain quiet.

His eyes were now staring directly into hers, asking for permission in the same gentlemanly manner as they had four years ago. A soft smile came to her lips as she thought of how different it would be to kiss him now…

His head inclined toward hers, and she could hear her heartbeat thudding in her ears. As his face got closer and closer, she let her eyes slide closed, chasing all thoughts out of her mind. She deserved this one moment, as he had said, with no war, no evil wizards, no searching…she deserved to let his sweet words and his kind heart warm every dark space inside of her, allowing them to chase away all of the horrors she'd seen and was yet to see…

His lips touched hers softly, tentatively, and she allowed herself, for one brilliant moment, to enjoy the sensations coursing through her as his mouth moved gently over hers.

It only lasted for that one moment, however. All too soon, her rationality won the battle in her head. She couldn't let the kiss continue, no matter how much she wanted it to. It wasn't fair to him – or to her to let an attachment form now when she knew they wouldn't be seeing each other again for quite some time.

She pulled away quickly before she could change her mind. "Viktor, I can't. I'm sorry, but I just can't," she said sadly, hating herself a little for having to say it at all. She convinced herself that she was doing the right thing, however, and steeled herself against any objections he might raise.

He held himself completely still for a long moment, his eyes telling her that he would like to continue as much as she would. He surprised her, however, when he sighed lightly and smiled at her.

"I understand," he said, making her regret her choice now more than ever. "If you can't, you can't."

She nodded morosely, her hands twisting together again in her lap. "It's just that there's too much going on right now to –"

"There's no need for an explanation, Hermione," he interrupted gently. "When I said I understood, I meant it."

She looked into his eyes and saw that he was being completely sincere, and it made her chest ache to think about how wonderful he was and how stupid she must surely be to let him slip away.

"You have no idea how glad I am that Harry brought us here," she said quietly.

He smiled at her, rising off the bench and offering his hand.

"Actually, I do," he said, helping her up off the bench and folding her hand around his elbow securely. She felt the warm heat from the nearness of his body penetrate her defenses, and before she let herself succumb to her wayward thoughts, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek lightly.

"Thank you for everything, Viktor," she said, her voice slightly shaky from the effort it took to control her emotions. She wasn't simply thanking him for taking such good care of her. There was so much more he'd done for her that she needed to thank him for. Without him, she would have never known what it was like to be admired and appreciated.

And wanted…

He nodded, a small smile playing across his lips. "Now, Ms. Granger, I believe it's time I let you get some rest. I've kept you up entirely too late."

Viktor bid her goodnight at the corner of the east wing, heading off for the master bedroom on the main floor. Hermione stood for a long moment in the foyer, working over the details of the evening in her mind so she would have something to hold onto in the tiring days ahead. Sighing wearily, she turned to climb the stairs, but a low, flickering light caught her attention near the entrance to the west wing.

She crossed the marble floor and peered into the study, seeing a dying fire fighting to stay alive in the grate. Ron was sitting in front of it, staring intently into the ebbing flames. He was slung back against the cushions, somehow looking much smaller than she knew him to be.

For some reason, she didn't make her presence known. Maybe she thought he would start yelling at her for going off with Viktor, or maybe she just didn't want to have to justify anything right now. She wanted tonight to be her own personal business; something that she could keep for herself and herself alone.

Ron shifted almost imperceptibly in his chair, snapping her back to the moment and causing her to duck back a little further into the shadows of the doorway. He sighed wearily, running a hand over his face and back through his hair in a gesture that was all at once endearing and completely familiar.

She almost went into the room then, to ask him if he was alright. But somehow she knew that she was the reason he wasn't alright, and she didn't have an explanation or a solution for him. Not tonight.

She had pushed Viktor away because she'd wanted to stay clear and focused on the tasks ahead. If she went into this room, with Ron, she wouldn't be clear or focused. In fact, Ron had the singular ability to make her the most unclear and unfocused she was capable of becoming. It was best for all concerned if she just went upstairs and tried to pass the next few days as peaceably as she could.

She let her eyes travel once more toward the fire, finding his brooding gaze now smoldering as dimly as the dying flames. He remained like that for a long moment, then suddenly he sat up and tossed the remaining water in his glass into the grate.

"Sod it all," he grumbled, watching as the water sizzled and evaporated into nothing.

Hermione pushed away from the door and silently made her way upstairs to her room. Once she was safely inside, she closed the door quietly and leaned her forehead against the solid oak.

She wondered how it was possible that in a matter of days, three of which she wasn't even conscious for, she'd managed to mess things up so brilliantly.

* * *

_**Okay, there it is. Very hard chapter to write, I must say, especially the end. I never feel like I get Hermione down as well as I get Ron…but I think she was pretty decent here. I like thinking of Viktor as a possible suitor, and not some cardboard cutout that many stories I've read make him out to be. I really think that your first crush, your first kiss stays with you, and I always saw Hermione carrying a soft spot for him throughout her life. She doesn't suffer fools gladly, so once you're in her life, you're there to stay. I also didn't want there to be this big confrontation between Ron and Hermione regarding Viktor. It's sort of like, been there, done that. I think by now we all know R and Hr are meant for each other, so it's useless to beat it over the head. More goodies to come…the next chapter is going to be during the final battle of the war and a couple of people make an appearance. Get ready for a sad one, folks.**_

_**As always, thank you for honoring me with your time and your kind words. Hope everyone is happy and healthy.**_


	3. A Consuming Emptiness

**Waiting For You**

_**Thanks to all who reviewed. Avanell – I agree, Ron was probably kicking himself for not saying anything…Jen – really? JKR said Krum returns in 7? I'm excited now! Shortie – I have finished Invisible Scars, you can check it out whenever and please, let me know what you think. WeaselbyBaby – I see Ron and Krum as opposites as well, and I really think that a girl needs both kinds of men in her life from time to time…Tamsin – I never write reviews either unless I love the story, so your words honor me. Freelancer – grammar and spelling are two pet peeves of mine. The second I see a story riddled with mistakes, I press the back button, never to return. They completely ruin the story…and to my trio of faithfuls (minus paulalou…I missed your review!) Jenulus, AngelicOne, Kelly Marie (don't be mad at me – the kiss had to happen for later plot development) thanks for sticking with me. **_

_**I always forget the disclaimer, so here goes. I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well, maybe a few DVD's and a Tivo, but other than that, I work for the man!**_

_**On with the show…**_

**Chapter 3 – A Consuming Emptiness**

There was a moment, a very long time ago, when Ron had come face to face with death. Bill had just finished his second year at Hogwarts and was home for the summer vacation. Early one morning, Ron had awoken to a quiet house and had gotten out of bed in search of a morning biscuit. When he'd reached the kitchen, he saw Bill's school owl hovering wearily above the table. Ron watched silently as the bird flapped its wings too slowly to keep it aloft, and jumped in surprise when it dropped out of the air onto the table right in front of him.

Ron had shuffled up to the table, and as any four year old would, asked the bird if it was sleeping. Getting no response, he pulled out a chair and kept his eyes trained on the owl waiting for it to move once more. He even poked it a few times, nudged it, talked to it, but still nothing. Ron hadn't understood then – that death was permanent and there was no coming back to life no matter how much the people surrounding you willed it to be so.

Fifteen years later, it seemed as if he had come face to face with death once more. This time, however, it was his own.

He felt as if there were a hundred hands pulling at each muscle, every bone, waiting for something to crack or tear. He didn't even have the strength to cry out – but he liked to think that he wouldn't have, regardless. There was blood dripping from the deep gashes at his wrists, which were held tightly against the cold stone wall with burning ropes. His head continuously dropped forward onto his chest, but only long enough to grant him a quick reprieve from having to stare into Lucius Malfoy's piercing eyes before another curse was cast his way.

"CRUCIO!" Lucius yelled again, sending a jet of red sparks at Ron's immobile body. The pain was so intense that for a moment, he thought he would blissfully pass out and cease to feel anything. The moment passed, however, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the invisible hands that had been tearing at him for what seemed like an eternity traveled into his mind and began pulling that apart as well.

He would welcome death. He knew that now.

For months – actually, for years – he had been afraid of death…it came with being Harry's best mate. The idea that some actually preferred death had always seemed like such a preposterous notion to him. Why would someone want to die when they could live?

Now, he understood. Death would be so much better than this.

"CRUCIO!"

His body gave a violent jerk, causing the ropes to cut even further into his skin. His head slammed back against the stone, and if it hadn't split open, it would be a miracle. His lungs fought to fill with air, but they felt as if they were being squeezed in a vice grip. He tried focusing on something…anything that would make this intolerable pain mask itself, if even for a second.

In the end, the decision was made for him. Lucius lowered his wand and slowly stepped toward him, his eyes glinting from the dim light cast by the wall torches.

"I will kill you," he drawled, his voice cold and even. "It's only a matter of how much I wish to see you suffer first."

Ron thought of a million things he wanted to yell back at the vile man standing before him, but he couldn't even conjure up the strength to lift his head. All he could do was listen as Lucius taunted and threatened to his heart's content.

"You know, Weasley, I always assumed I would kill your father first. Perhaps this works in my favor, though. When word gets to him that his youngest son is dead, he'll be a shell of a man…easier for me to dispose of…" Lucius sneered, his hot breath close to Ron's ear. Ron made an attempt to pull his arms out of their restraints, to wipe that ugly smirk off Lucius' face, but his wrists burned too badly for him to make any progress.

"Your simpering bag of a mother will be crushed, obviously," Lucius continued, the cruelty in his tone almost a palpable thing. "There might not even be any reason to kill her. Your brothers will have to be disposed of, surely, since they'll most likely have delusions of seeking revenge. And your sister, of course," he said, stepping even closer if possible. "She'll be allowed to live as well. A long, tortured life without her great love, her filthy muggle-born best friend, her brothers…the Weasley family will fall to pieces, as they should have years ago when they made the decision to become blood traitors."

Ron's vision swam before his eyes, his head lolling from side to side on his shoulders. He knew Lucius was only trying to get inside his head, to torture him more with his words than with the Cruciatus curse, but he couldn't keep the images away. Somehow he knew that if Lucius was given the chance, all of the things he'd said would come true.

He felt like vomiting, and wished for once that he would do so. Lucius was standing close enough that he wouldn't be able to escape Ron's aim.

"How does it feel?" Lucius continued, his voice dripping with maliciousness. "To know that right now, right this very moment, your closest friends are being murdered? My Lord must certainly have tired of torturing Potter by now, and is sending him to meet his parents." His eyes flashed sadistically as he put his hand around Ron's throat and held his head still against the stone. "And I'm sure my sister-in-law dispatched of that despicable little mudblood the second she had the opportunity. There's no need to dally with killing a girl who never deserved to hold a wand in the first place."

Ron's entire body felt as if it was being pulled in five different directions, but Lucius' last comment nearly destroyed him. If Harry and Hermione were dead…

He gathered up every last shred of strength he had left and spit into Lucius' twisted, evil face. The next second, his eyes rolled back into his head as Lucius tightened his hold on his throat, cutting off all promise of oxygen.

As he felt the darkness begin to consume him, the only thought spiraling through him was that he'd never gotten the chance to say goodbye to the people he loved. His parents, brothers, Ginny, Harry…Hermione…

The last of his breath was expelled from his body as he fixed an image of Hermione in his mind. Her lovely face was to be the last thing he'd see before he slid into nothingness.

"Release him, Lucius!"

From an immeasurable distance, Ron heard a voice that he'd never thought he'd hear again. At first, when Lucius' grip lessened and he felt sweet air filling his lungs again, he thought he'd been hearing things. But when he finally found the strength to open his eyes, he found himself looking at Snape's deadly glare.

"What for?" thundered Lucius, turning his spiteful eyes onto Snape. "Go find another of Potter's insufferable friends to kill. I heard they're all arriving by now."

"I said, let him go," Snape hissed, raising the wand at his side. "I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, so I suggest you do as you are told."

Lucius' eyes glinted dangerously, but his hand did slip from Ron's throat. "I knew it," he said quietly, spitting his words out as if they were poisonous to him. "You've been a traitor all this time, haven't you?"

Snape's lip curled as he glared straight through Lucius. "Never let it be said that you were a stupid man."

Lucius nodded slowly, then whipped around with alarming speed, his wand raised and poised to strike. Ron struggled to focus his eyes, not believing what he was seeing unfold right in front of him. Before Lucius' wand was even waist-level, Snape flicked his wrist and wordlessly sent an explosive jet of green light straight at Lucius' chest.

As he watched Lucius' lifeless body crumple unceremoniously to the floor, Ron's head swam dizzyingly. Snape was not supposed to be the good guy. He had killed Dumbledore…tortured the lot of them throughout their time at school…what was he playing at?

A second later, and he was falling forward onto the rough stone floor, throwing his hands in front of him before his face could connect with the ground. Snape crossed to him, pushing him up roughly so he was resting against the wall.

"I have no time or inclination to explain things to you, Weasley. It will have to be enough for you to know that I'm not the despicable, murdering villain you have all made me out to be," said Snape, flicking his wand quickly over Ron's wrists to heal them as best he could. "Now, where is Potter?"

Ron's head wouldn't obey him, and instead of shaking back and forth to indicate he didn't know where Harry had gone off to, it fell forward onto his chest as he leaned dangerously to the side. Snape shoved him upwards again, holding him against the wall with one hand.

"Focus!" he bellowed, his long hair falling into his face. "Do you know where he went?"

Ron swallowed painfully, finding enough of his voice to answer him. "I don't know. Lucius knocked me out from behind as I was running."

Snape swore darkly, then reached over and grabbed Lucius' wand. He shoved it into Ron's hand, then stood and glanced first down one corridor, then another. Looking back to Ron, he pinned him against the wall with his severe glare.

"Stay here. You are in no condition to play the hero, so don't even try. Lucius was right; the others will be arriving shortly. Wait for someone to come along, and get out of here," he said, barely waiting for his sentence to be finished before choosing the corridor to the left and sprinting into the darkness.

Ron was left in the middle of the stone passageway with Lucius' body sprawled inches from his feet. He couldn't take his gaze off of the open eyes staring blankly at the ceiling above them. It was odd, and mildly inappropriate, that the only thing that he could think of at this moment was that he'd be able to see thestrals the next time the occasion called for it.

He finally let his eyes slide shut as he rationalized with himself that he'd need every bit of strength he could muster to move sooner than later. He rested his head against the wall and allowed a hazy darkness to consume him, all thoughts rushing out of his mind except one.

He had to find his friends.

The next thing he was fully aware of was a stinging sensation in his cheek. He opened his eyes slowly, finding Hermione's face swimming in and out of focus.

"Ron! Don't close your eyes, Ron…WAKE UP!" she yelled, her voice sounding thick and very, very far away. He struggled to obey her, fighting with his first impulse to close his eyes and lapse back into the blissful darkness in which he knew no pain.

There it was again. A sharp sting in his cheek, and his eyes flew open once more. He saw her lower her hand, and realized she must have slapped him. It would have been funny to him if he could find the energy to laugh.

"That hurt," he said groggily, forcing his focus onto her face. Her eyes were swollen and red, but the determined glint in them was something with which Ron was very familiar. He wouldn't be passing out again on her watch.

"Oh, thank God," she whispered, cradling his face with one hand. The next thing Ron felt was her warm lips on his face – everywhere she could kiss him, she was. "I thought you were dead," she sobbed brokenly, her hand moving to stroke back the hair on his forehead.

"Still here," he managed, his throat burning from the effort it took to speak. She hugged him to her then as best as she could, holding him carefully as if she knew what he must have gone through. It was only when she released him that he noticed her left arm was hanging uselessly by her side and that there were large, bleeding gashes across her beautiful face.

"What happened?" he asked, trying to lift his hand to her face. She stopped its progress and held it tightly within her good hand. Her eyes took on a haunted look, silent tears spilling onto her cheeks.

"It's not important," she said, her voice shaking almost uncontrollably. "We need to focus on finding Harry now."

"I don't know where he is," Ron said, struggling to sit up. Hermione helped him right himself with her good arm, her face growing even paler as she did.

"Do you think you can stand?" she asked, her eyes traveling over his blood-soaked clothing with anxious eyes. "If anything, we need to move. It isn't safe here."

Ron nodded, a searing blaze of fire shooting through his head at the action. Still, he propped his hand against the wall behind him and took a steadying breath. Calling upon every last ounce of strength he possessed, he slowly pushed onto his knees, then his feet. He felt Hermione guiding him the whole way, and the second he was standing solidly on both feet, she put her good arm around his waist to anchor him.

"What did he do to you?" she questioned softly when he shuddered from the weight of her hand against the side of his ribs.

He looked over at her. "What did she do to you?"

There was a darkness, a lifelessness in Hermione's eyes that had never been there before. It was as if Bellatrix had stolen something from Hermione that she would never be able to get back.

Neither got the chance to answer – for in the next instant, Neville came rushing down the corridor toward them.

"Are you two alright?" he asked breathlessly, his eyes scanning over them quickly, then taking in Lucius' dead body lying at their feet. "Is that…is that Malfoy's father?"

Ron nodded, feeling some of his strength returning to him. If Neville was here, then that meant reinforcements were on their way. Now all they had to do was find Harry.

As if reading his mind, Neville looked about him. "Where's Harry?"

"We don't know," answered Hermione. "We were just about to go look for him. Can you turn back and tell everyone where we are? We're going to need some help."

Neville's expression slid from one of concern to annoyance. "You two look half-dead, and you want me to go back? Take Ron and get out of here…I'll go find Harry."

"Neville, there isn't time to argue this –" started Hermione, but she was instantly cut off by Neville's intense gaze.

"You're right," he said forcefully. "Which is why I'm going ahead and you're going for help." He moved to stride past them, but Ron's hand shot out and grabbed his robes. Neville whipped around, jerking his robes out of Ron's loose grip.

"Look, it could have easily been me that Voldemort was after," he bellowed, surprising both Ron and Hermione into complete silence. "That's right. I know about the prophecy now, and although I think it was ruddy awful of the lot of you to keep it a secret, I understand why you did."

His shoulders straightened, and a look of fierce determination crossed his face. "But no matter how many people might think I'm rubbish at everything I do, I have to help Harry take Voldemort down. And that's exactly what I intend to do."

Hermione let go of Ron in her haste to jump in front of Neville, blocking his path. "Neville, think about this for a minute!" she said, her voice sounding high-pitched and frantic. "You have never faced him before…you have no idea how powerful he is –"

"And why is that?" Neville yelled back. "The three of you never let anyone else in on what you were doing. Did it ever occur to you that I have as much right to face Voldemort as Harry does?" His eyes blazed steadily, not a trace of his old insecurities and hesitancy to be found in his even gaze.

"My parents might not be buried, but they've been dead for a long time," he said, his voice now quiet in the darkness surrounding them. "You have no right to stop me from doing this."

Hermione made a choking noise in her throat as Neville pushed past her and began running down the same corridor Ron had seen Snape take earlier. She turned to Ron and grabbed his arm tightly, despite the pain she knew he was in.

"NEVILLE!" Ron yelled after him, stumbling a bit against Hermione. "NEVILLE, COME BACK!"

Hermione's grip tightened on his arm, making him wince, but bringing him to life all the same. The pain he'd felt as he'd endured the Cruciatus curse was nothing compared to the terrified, wild look in Hermione's eyes.

"Come on," he said, grabbing her good hand and beginning to move as quickly as he could down the corridor after Neville.

"Ron, you're in no shape –" she began, but he cut her off.

"Neither are you, but we have to," he said, focusing all of his energy on putting one foot in front of the other in a long succession. With time, he found more of his footing, and was even able to quicken his pace. Hermione was right by his side, looking quickly down the corridors that forked off of the main one they were now jogging down.

"I don't see him," she said desperately, cradling her arm close to her side to keep it from jostling about. "They could be anywhere…"

As soon as the words left her mouth, they heard a tremendous crash from somewhere to their right. They sprinted down the torch-lit corridor and saw a door partly opened halfway down the hall. Ron's feet were now moving of their own accord, and although every muscle in his body ached beyond belief, it was as if something inside had taken over and pushed the pain far enough away for him to function.

They reached the doorway, and from the moment Ron forced the heavy wood completely open, he knew that his life would never be the same.

Time slowed down to the merest fractions of seconds. Ron felt as if he was watching himself and the events unfold from outside himself. Their footsteps had barely crossed the threshold of the door when he saw Neville's body fly across the room, slamming into a stone pillar and crumple into a heap on the floor. Mere inches from where he landed lay Snape, his motionless head turned toward the doorway, his eyes open but beyond seeing anything ever again.

Harry yelled out then, drawing Ron's attention away from Neville and Snape, and onto Voldemort himself. Ron's gaze clashed with Voldemort's for an eternity, in which he pulled Hermione in back of him and grabbed for Lucius' wand at the same time.

He heard Harry yell out again, and time began to speed up once more. The next few moments happened so fast that in years to come, Ron would never be able to recall it properly.

He raised his wand and aimed it at Voldemort, at the same time feeling Hermione ducking around him with her own wand drawn. Harry, he could see, was running at Voldemort from the side, his wand raised into the air as well.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The room exploded with multiple beams of green light, the force of the spells shattering the pillars around them. Ron saw Harry hit the floor through the green haze that had saturated the room, and turned in time to see Hermione fall to the ground at his side. A large stone from the pillar grazed his shoulder, and he looked up to see one of the structures falling down around them.

He dropped to the floor beside Hermione, covering her body with his own. He thought he heard voices screaming through the chaos and rubble, but in the next instant, he felt something heavy crash down on the back of his head, and he finally allowed his body to drift into the darkness it had been longing to go toward all night.

* * *

The cold, damp November air moved into Ron's lungs and made his ribs hurt despite the intensive healing he'd had to go through for the last week. His mother had raised a dozen objections to his leaving the hospital, but in the end, she'd relented because she knew it was no use to try and keep him away.

He walked slowly past the grey stones sticking out of the dying grass, his eyes fixed on his point of destination. With every step he took, his chest constricted even more tightly, making it very hard to breathe properly. His mother had her arm securely around his, holding him close to her body as if she could transfer her strength to him. He felt comforted by her presence in a way he'd never appreciated before, and he squeezed her hand lightly as they continued their journey.

Just ahead of him, Harry was walking with Ginny. Their hands were tightly clasped between them, and Ginny kept looking at Harry out of the corner of her eye as if he was going to disappear right in front of her.

"The Grangers are here," his father said, pointing off in the visible distance.

Ron looked up instantly and saw Hermione standing with her mother and father, looking utterly lost and alone despite the close proximity of her parents.

"Come on, I'll go over with you," said his father gently. "I want to talk to Helen and Thomas for a moment." Ron nodded, releasing his mother's arm and following his father over to where the Grangers stood.

Hermione raised her gaze from the ground at the sound of their footsteps getting closer, and Ron recoiled at the lifeless look in her usually alert eyes. He went immediately to her, saying a quick hello to her parents before his father took them off to the side.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his eyes moving slowly over her, searching for any outward injury the healers may have missed.

"Fine," she said, and even her tone sounded lifeless and hollow. She wrapped her arms around herself and refused to meet his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he replied, knowing full well that neither of them was fine. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at a small stone. "Mum didn't want me out of bed this soon, but – well, you know."

"Yeah," she said, shuddering slightly as the wind kicked up. Her hair whipped about her face, but she didn't even bother pushing it away. It was like she wanted it to cover her completely, hiding things from her view that she just didn't want to see.

They stood there in complete silence for a long time. Ron had absolutely no idea what to say to her – especially today of all days. She had not been herself since waking up next to him in the hospital, retreating further and further into herself every day they were there.

Ron's father came back over with Hermione's parents then, and Mr. Granger put his arm around his daughter's shoulders.

"I think they're ready," he told her quietly, pulling her up against his side protectively.

Hermione nodded dully, finally meeting Ron's eyes for one quick moment before looking out over the expansive field. The moment was all it took, however, for Ron to realize that a little part of Hermione had died during the final battle.

If he was being honest with himself, a little part of himself had died as well.

"Come on, son," said his father, putting his hand on his shoulder. Ron nodded as well, walking slowly behind Hermione and her parents until they reached the small crowd of people gathered ahead of them. Ron stood next to Harry, and felt oddly comforted when Hermione moved to her mother's side so she could be next to him as well.

A tall man with a flowing, pointed beard stepped to the head of the crowd and quietly spoke with an old woman dressed all in black, a veil covering her face from view. The old woman nodded and the man turned to face the small crowd.

"Neville Longbottom was a beloved son, grandson, nephew and friend. It is in his honor that we gather here today, to share in our grief over losing one so young. However, it is with pride in our hearts that we remember him, for he gave us a most precious gift. He chose to live his life honorably and chivalrously, giving of himself until the end. It is with that in mind that I implore you to remember Neville as the caring young man he was, and live your lives fully in due respect to him."

Somewhere along the way, Ron's vision began to blur, unable to focus on anything that was happening before him. His throat ached painfully, and he found it impossible to swallow. He felt his father's hand on his shoulder again, and when he was finally able to blink fast enough to keep his tears back and see properly, he saw Ginny's arms go around Harry's waist, anchoring him when it looked as if he would spiral out of control.

As the man continued to speak, Ron looked to his other side and saw Hermione standing completely still, her face a frozen mask of tight control. She wasn't looking at the coffin or the old wizard who was speaking. In fact, it appeared as if her eyes weren't seeing anything at all.

His hand moved to hers of its own accord, clasping hers tightly within his grasp. He saw her lower lip quiver slightly, but she kept her gaze straight ahead. He could feel her fingers wrap more firmly around his hand, however, and he felt that at least it was something.

"Mrs. Augusta Longbottom and her family would like to thank you all for coming, and request that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to St. Mungo's Hospital in Neville's name."

Ron expelled a painful breath. His jaw clenched tightly as Neville's coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. He could hear the old woman sobbing behind her veil, whom he now guessed was Neville's gran.

The guests began dispersing, walking off in several different directions. Only a few people remained behind, none speaking, as the dirt was filled in around Neville's coffin. He lost track of time as they stood there, sniffles being heard every so often as everyone paid their last respects. Hermione's hand remained nestled in his, and although she didn't budge a muscle the entire time, Ron could tell that her mind was working doubly fast to process everything that was going on.

McGonagall nodded at them from across the grave, a representative of the Hogwarts staff. Since the school would be reopening within the month, the rest of the teachers were working hard to prepare for the arrival of the students. She crossed to Neville's grandmother, speaking in quiet, soft tones to her for a long moment before nodding once again at them and walking off into the distance herself.

Ron saw Neville's grandmother look in their direction, and as his parents walked over to the Grangers to speak with them, the older woman came striding toward them purposefully. She lifted the veil off her face as she approached, and Ron could almost feel as well as see the depth of grief she was feeling.

She came to a stop in front of the four of them, looking at each of them in turn. "I want to thank you all for being so good to my grandson," she said, her voice sounding as if she hadn't used it in days. Her skin looked as if it was stretched too thin over her bones, especially in her face where her cheeks appeared sunken and hollow. "He talked about you all the time, and it was very important to him to have you as friends."

Ginny made a small sound in her throat, and had to turn away quickly so no one would see her tears. Harry's body tensed at Ron's side, and Ron knew exactly what he was thinking. Neville had been so much better of a friend to them then they had been to him. Even throughout this last year, when they'd been in hiding and had to go without answering his letters for months at a time, he had never stopped writing them about news from home. He'd kept them connected to their lives while they couldn't be a part of them.

"We were lucky to have him as our friend," Harry said finally, his eyes downcast.

Neville's grandmother nodded slowly, looking down at her grandson's fresh grave. "He was a good boy, my Neville. I can't tell you what a comfort it is knowing that he wasn't alone when…" Her voice trailed off, and she sniffled suddenly, straightening her shoulders. "Thank you for coming today."

Ron could only nod at her as she turned to join the rest of her family. The lump in his throat that had been growing steadily since he got here was now constricting his air passage. Finding it hard to catch his breath, he turned away and saw Hermione staring blankly at the floral arrangement adorning Neville's grave.

"Hermione?" he questioned lightly. She was really beginning to scare him now, and although he knew that people felt grief in their own way, this reaction was so wildly different from her reaction to Dumbledore's death that he was having trouble recognizing her at all.

Her hand slowly pulled away from his, and he felt the coldness of the air replace the warmth she had provided.

"My parents are waiting," she said tonelessly, already starting to back away from them. Ron stepped forward and put a hand on her arm before she could retreat completely.

"Come by Godric's Hollow in a few days. I'm going to be staying with Harry for a while, and Ginny will probably be there as well," he said, trying to catch her gaze.

She avoided looking directly at him, and although Harry was voicing his agreement with Ron's plan, she didn't look at him either.

"Alright," she said quietly, moving away from Ron's hand before practically fleeing across the field toward her parents. Ron felt all of the life drain out of him as he watched her, looking incredibly small, get engulfed under her father's arm as they steered her toward their car parked along the side of the road.

When he turned toward his sister and Harry, he saw the same concern etched in their faces as they watched Hermione disappear, and knew that if something didn't give soon, they might lose her for good.

* * *

"Do you suppose she's going to ditch out on us?" Ginny asked, glancing at the clock above Harry's mantle for the millionth time that night. "She wouldn't do that…would she?"

"Normally I would say no, but with the way she's been lately, I don't know," said Harry, sinking further into the cushions next to Ginny. "You spoke to her yesterday, right?"

"Well, yes, but only for a minute. Dad couldn't get the telephone to work properly, and the reception was too bad to hear very much," she sighed.

Ron sat in the chair opposite the sofa, watching the two of them worry and fret over Hermione. He was reaching the limit of his patience and was afraid that he would do something foolish like apparate to Hermione's house and toss her over his shoulder.

It had been almost two weeks since Neville's funeral, and every letter he'd sent her about dinner had come back with an excuse as to why she couldn't make it. Finally, two days ago, she had replied with one word to his request.

_Alright_.

Alright. Things were most definitely not alright. She wouldn't talk to him, or Harry, or Ginny for that matter. Something was eating away at her and she wouldn't let any of them know how to help her.

Truth be told, it was becoming bloody annoying.

He wanted to be there for her; to be the best friend he'd always thought he was capable of being to her. He wanted to wait patiently until she was ready to open up to him about whatever was bothering her and he wanted to be a shoulder to cry on if she needed it.

At the same time, however, he wanted to throttle her. He wanted to shake her until she confessed what was wrong and he wanted to scream at her that she wasn't the only one suffering after the war. He knew he had to be careful, because given the opportunity – if history had taught him anything – he would probably be stupid enough to choose the latter option.

Sighing again, his own eyes traveled to the clock and watched as the minute hand slid past the time of her supposed arrival. Hermione was never late, and up until now, Ron had never thought her capable of bailing out on a commitment. Apparently, Ginny was thinking along the same lines, because she got up off the sofa and tossed her hair sharply over her shoulder.

"Well, I'm going to eat now, before everything gets cold," she said, crossing to the dining table. Harry shared a look with Ron, which clearly meant that it was better to have only one out of sorts female on their plate at a time. He got up and joined Ginny at the table, followed closely by a severely put-out Ron.

They ate in silence, none of them even looking toward the door throughout the entire meal. Ron pushed his food around his plate, trying to keep his temper under control. He wanted to throw something…he wanted to break something into a million little pieces so he wouldn't feel that he was the only thing falling apart.

They just didn't make complete sense without Hermione. Her absence was palpable, and with one look at his sister and Harry, he knew they felt the same way.

Ron tossed his napkin onto his half-eaten meal. "I'm going upstairs," he said without preamble, and without waiting for any kind of response from Harry or Ginny, he pushed away from the table and trudged up to his room.

This was maddening; this waiting for Hermione to regain some sense of herself. Never, in a million years, would she have ever kept them waiting without word before. She knew that they'd be worried about her, and she was always that thoughtful. When Hermione made promises, she kept them.

He threw himself down on his bed, reaching for the wizard's magazine on his nightstand. He supposed the only thing he could do right now was put her out of his mind until tomorrow, when he was thinking more clearly about how to handle his frustration with her and his irritation with himself. In the past, no matter how many arguments and fights they'd had, he'd always felt that he helped keep Hermione grounded. Whenever she got to uptight about school, or following an impossible set of personal rules, he'd swoop in and tell her she was mental. They'd row about it for a few days, but in the end, she'd always listen to him. She'd always take his advice.

Grumbling incoherently, Ron flipped the pages of his magazine without even taking a second to look at the pictures. He'd reached the end and turned it over to the beginning to start flipping again when he heard a soft rap at his door.

"What?" he called out testily, silently berating himself for letting his foul mood overtake his every thought.

"Can I come in?" his sister asked through the heavy oak door.

"Yeah," he replied, tossing the magazine onto the floor and pushing himself up into a sitting position. Ginny opened the door and he could tell by her expression that something was wrong.

"What is it?" he asked immediately, making room for her on the bed, which she sat on wearily.

"Hermione showed up," she said, looking down at her trainers. "She just walked in, no explanation, no excuses."

Ron sat up even straighter. Hermione was downstairs…

"And?" he pressed, disturbed by the hesitant look on his sister's face.

"And," Ginny continued, shuffling her feet a bit, "I might have gotten a bit short with her."

"How short?"

"I may have told her that it was insufferably rude to keep us waiting without getting word to us that she would be late," said Ginny, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.

Ron knew Ginny was waiting for him to take her to task for how she'd treated Hermione, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not when he wanted to yell and scream at Hermione, himself.

"Well, she was late, and she should have sent word," he rationalized, shrugging.

Ginny looked up finally, surprise evident in her eyes. "So you don't think I was out of line?"

"No, I don't. I don't know what's going on with Hermione right now, but that's no reason for her to keep shutting us out like this," he said.

Ginny nodded slowly. "I know what you mean. I don't want to press her too hard, but it's becoming impossible to know what to say to her. Harry tried talking to her a bit when she first came inside, but she would only nod and shake her head at his questions, and when they actually required some kind of response, she would mumble something short and then clam up."

"Is he still down there with her?" Ron asked.

Ginny nodded. "Before I threw my little tantrum and stormed out of the room, I saw her heading out back, and Harry followed her."

"You know, Gin, I kind of want to yell at her myself," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. "Just to get her hacked off – hear her yell, or whatever…"

Ginny laughed quietly. "Well, if anyone can do it, you can."

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was the one thing he could do for her. He could be her outlet…the one person she could yell at, scream about, cry over, and have it be alright. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

He and Ginny made their way downstairs again, and were both surprised to find Harry alone in the living room, staring moodily at the wall in front of him.

"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked, looking around for any sign of her.

Harry nodded his head toward the back door. "Outside still. She's acting so strange…I just don't know what to say to her anymore."

"Join the club," Ron muttered in frustration. He made up his mind swiftly, in one sure, clarifying moment. She wouldn't go home tonight until she'd told him what was wrong. He strode purposefully toward the backdoor, barely breaking stride when Harry called out to him.

"What are you going to do?"

"Whatever it takes," Ron replied, pushing the door open almost violently and stepping out into the cold darkness.

It took him a minute to find her in the extensive yard, but there she was – curled up on a bench overlooking the pond near the edge of the property. He walked over quickly, keeping his entire focus on doing exactly what he'd told Harry he'd do.

Whatever it takes.

"Nice of you to finally show," he said by way of greeting, watching her give a startled jump where she sat. "Too bad we'd already finished supper without you."

She met his gaze quickly before averting her eyes out toward the pond once more. "I got held up at home," she said tonelessly, wrapping her coat more tightly around her.

Ron stood in front of her, his hands jammed into his pockets. "And I suppose it was too much trouble to let us know you'd be late?"

Hermione shrugged, irritating him even more than he already was. This was not the Hermione that he knew, and he meant to make her see that before the evening was over.

"What's going on with you, Hermione?" he asked, dropping down next to her on the bench. "Why won't you talk to us about what's wrong?"

"I'm fine," she replied, almost mechanically. Her eyes remained fixed straight ahead, watching a few leaves fall off of the branch hanging over the water.

"Are you really?" he said sarcastically, turning on the bench so he was facing her completely. "Well then, I suppose you won't mind if I just sit here with you while you don't brood over whatever's not bothering you."

Hermione didn't answer him, as he had hoped. He had thought that she'd at least react to his tone and tell him off for speaking to her like that, but she remained completely motionless. Not wanting to be the first to give in, he settled himself in a more comfortable position and joined her in watching the leaves fall into the still water of the pond.

It seemed to him that an eternity passed in complete silence; the only sound coming from the wind as it rustled through the trees. He should have known that she'd be just as stubborn as he was about things. It occurred to him that they could possibly be out here for a very, very long time. Still, he kept silent.

Finally, just when Ron thought he couldn't handle another second of it, she put her palm out in front of her and stared down at it.

"I was helping my mother wash the dishes last night and I dropped a glass," she said quietly. "When I picked it up, I cut my hand."

He looked down at her small hand and noticed the jagged lines marring the usual smoothness of her skin. He wanted to ask her if she was alright, but somehow, he knew that the question would most likely shut her up again for a good, long time.

She ran a finger over the raised cuts absently. "I didn't feel anything, Ron. The cuts were bleeding pretty badly, but they didn't hurt at all. At least, I couldn't feel it."

He studied the side of her face and waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You were pretty banged up during the last battle, and before that, we were walking around with scrapes and bruises for about a year straight. Maybe your body is just so used to pain, you can't feel it anymore," he reasoned.

She shook her head, a sadness flooding her features. "It's more than that. At Neville's funeral, Ron…I didn't cry. I thought I would, but I couldn't." She paused, covering the scratches on her hand with her other. "Actually, that's not entirely true. As I stood there, the only thing I kept thinking was how glad I was it wasn't you or Harry being buried."

She cringed and shrunk down even further into her coat, almost as if she was disgusted with herself. Ron sat completely still, not really knowing how to respond to that. He wanted to tell her that the same thoughts had been going through his head, but he couldn't seem to find the words. Besides, she was talking again, and he didn't know if something he would say would make her retreat back inside herself. Again, he opted to remain silent.

"I'm a horrible person," she whispered. "Neville was my friend, and I couldn't cry for him. But when I…" She stopped herself quickly, turning almost a ghostly white.

"When you, what?" Ron asked, unable to keep himself silent any longer.

Hermione swallowed thickly, folding and unfolding her hands around each other. Her gaze was once again fixed out onto the water, and from where he was sitting, he could see that the hollow, dead look was slowly leaving them.

"I killed Bellatrix Lestrange, Ron. I killed her without a second thought, and when I saw her body hit the ground in front of me, I couldn't stop crying. Tell me," she implored, her voice now sounding utterly desperate, "what kind of person cries over a murderous, despicable creature like Bellatrix Lestrange, but can't shed a single tear for a friend?"

"It's two completely different things," he said, shaking his head. "You cried over Bellatrix because she made you do something you never thought you'd have to do."

"Murder," Hermione cut in shallowly. "I'm now a murderer."

"That's not true," he argued. "We all had a hand in killing Voldemort, and several other Death Eaters…but they would have killed us first without a second thought. You were defending yourself against Bellatrix, so I don't see how that could be murder."

"I still took another person's life, no matter how you dress it up," she said morosely. "Her face is the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last I see when I go to sleep."

"Well then, after all the fighting we did, they wound up winning after all," he said. "You've given them all the power here, Hermione. You've let them beat you."

Hermione's eyes left the water and found his at his words. He could see the beginnings of what looked like real emotion swimming in her eyes as she stared at him. Sure, it might be anger, but at least it was something.

"They haven't beaten me," she said harshly. "I just never thought that killing someone would leave me so empty. We didn't cover anything like that in school – so forgive me if it's taking me a bit of time to adjust to things."

"Hermione, we're all adjusting to things. We all had to do things we didn't want to do, a lot sooner than we should have been expected to do them," he said, purposely trying to bait her further with his arrogant tone. If it worked, he didn't care if she was angry with him for a good, long time. "We all saw things we wished we would never see, so I don't see why you get to be the only one who gets to shut off completely."

As he'd hoped, her eyes began blazing with unmitigated anger. She clenched her hands in her lap and he could see from the stiffness of her posture that she was gearing up for one of her famous rebuttals to his lack of compassion.

Then, the strangest thing happened. In the past she would have turned to him all in a huff and systematically ripped him to pieces with her biting words; but now, he could only watch helplessly as she opened her mouth, closed it again, and then turned her face away from him. A second later, he saw her clenched fists begin trembling in her lap.

"You don't understand," she said softly, after quite some time had passed. "Not at all…"

"Dammit, Hermione!" he bellowed, finally having enough of this. "How in the bloody hell am I supposed to understand when you won't tell me what's really wrong?" He grabbed her arm, making sure it was the one she hadn't injured during the battle, and forced her to face him. "You tell me all that stuff, and then you say I still don't get it. If I'm so damned thick, maybe you should just spell it out for an idiot like me!"

Her gaze was zeroed in on his hand, which was gripping her right above her elbow. He felt like he should loosen up, but was afraid that the second he did, she would stand up and bolt from him and never come back. So he kept his hand firmly in place, and waited until her eyes finally shifted and focused on his face.

Her eyes began shining brightly, and Ron realized she was very close to tears. The tightness in his chest loosened a bit, and although he still hated seeing her cry, he hoped that this time, she would start crying and never stop. At least he'd know she was alive again.

"I was the first person to wake up, you know," she said, her voice sounding small in the thick night air. "When we were in that room with Voldemort, and the pillars came down…I opened my eyes and saw your father and Bill running toward us." She began blinking rapidly, trying her hardest to keep her tears from falling. "They were the only ones I saw at first, and then I looked over and saw Harry lying completely still. I tried to move, and there you were, draped across me, and you weren't moving either."

She paused again, and the tears she hadn't been able to cry since the night of the final battle began slipping unnoticed down her cheeks.

"It was the second time that night that I thought you were dead. When I found you in the hallway…and then in that room, thinking that I'd lost both you and Harry…" She grew quiet, lowering her eyes away from his.

Without realizing it, his hand moved from her arm to cup her chin. He brought her face back around so he could see her eyes. The tears were still spilling freely onto her cheeks, wetting his hand as he moved it to cradle the side of her face.

"But you didn't," he said quietly. "We're both still here…everyone we care about is safe, Hermione. It's over."

"I want to believe you, but it feels like there's this emptiness inside me that I won't be able to fill," she said, her voice broken and thick. "I keep thinking that if I close my eyes for too long, if I stop paying attention even for a second, I'll lose everything that means anything to me."

His thumb absently wiped the tears off her cheek, moving in slow strokes across her soft skin. "These past two weeks, that's exactly how I've felt," he said, realizing altogether too late that he'd revealed more than he probably should have. His pulse began racing out of control, waiting for her to pull away or look at him pityingly.

She did neither.

Her eyes drifted closed, and she leaned into his hand on her face. Her tears were coming quicker now, her lower lip trembling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Ron."

"Don't apologize," he said in a low voice. "Just don't ever shut me out again…"

"I won't," she quavered, moving quickly and surely into his embrace. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her as she sobbed into the crook of his neck. A few times, he thought he heard her speaking…about Harry and Ginny, her parents…Neville…but if she was, the words were too jumbled and laced with fresh tears to be made out properly. All he could do was hold her as she finally let out everything she'd been keeping bottled up for over a week.

It seemed as if she cried forever, but Ron didn't care. She had come back to him – to them – and he'd hold her as long as it took to begin to fill that emptiness inside her.

* * *

_**Okay, so that was probably the most difficult piece of fanfic I've written yet. Seriously. I've written three stories, and countless chapters, but that really put me through it. I hope I did it justice, and that it came out half of how I envisioned it in my head. **_

**_Again, thank you to those of you who have reviewed. I've gotten some amazing feedback from you all, and some pointers, too. Now I know to spell Lavender's name like that, something which I should have looked up in the first place, but thank you for letting me know. Nikiki, you honor me with your words, and it would be my pleasure to help you out any way I possibly can. _**

_**Please keep reading – I promise more goodies to come very soon. The next chapter will be the crew splitting up a bit and tackling their careers, and a visit to Ron that doesn't exactly end the way that anyone anticipated.**_

**_Hope everyone is happy and healthy. _**


	4. A Good Life

**Waiting For You**

**_First let me apologize for the time between this chapter and the last. Things in the real world got entirely too real for a while there, and I couldn't see my way clear to my imagination. I hated not being able to write, but I think things are clearing up a bit now. I truly hope there are those of you out there that are still around to want to read the rest of this after our long separation (sniff). If so, you all know that you have my eternal gratitude for reading my hopes for the future of our favorite witches and wizards. Thanks for sticking around… _**

**_I own nothing but a few treasured possessions…and sadly none of them are the rights to these wonderful characters. _**

_**Also, I need to note that the chapters that came before were one for every year and event within that year. However, with this chapter, I have to split it in two for many reasons. One, they wouldn't cooperate with me and stick to what I had planned, making for a long chapter. Two, the longer I wrote, the longer the time it took me to post this so I decided to post what I have just to prove that I'm still around! The second part will still be in Hermione's pov, the same year and same event, so as not to mess that part up. **_

_**So, without further ado…**_

**Chapter 4 – A Good Life**

She couldn't help it; she had to look again.

She had promised herself – no, vowed to herself, that she wouldn't look. It didn't do any good, and had only caused her to feel her impatience transform her into a tight ball of nerves.

The more she looked, the more she thought, and that was decidedly a severely dangerous thing to allow herself to do at this point. Her over-analytical brain was buzzing with all the questions she'd forced herself not to examine, and her carefully controlled world blurred before her with no clarity in sight.

Six-fifteen.

The intricate numbers glared back at her as if to tell her the time hadn't changed much since the last time she'd tried to keep her word to herself. She didn't care, though. In truth, she was feeling a bit like a caged animal, waiting for the click of the lock to announce her escape from herself.

_Where are you, Harry? _She turned on her heel and reversed direction, giving the offensive clock her back.

Harry had told her six. She was used to waiting for him on more than one occasion, but she had thought he knew how anxious she had been all week for tonight to hurry up and get here. Tonight, of all nights, she really wished her best friend was more punctual.

And just like that her thoughts snapped, just like a rubber band, back to what she'd been trying to push out of her mind for the last fifteen minutes.

Her other best friend.

She hadn't seen Ron with her own two eyes for a little over six months. She'd seen photographs of his team in the Daily Prophet, heard his voice over the telephone – she assumed someone on the Cannons was from a Muggle home – a handful of times, and had read his illegible scrawl on countless letters delivered by Pig.

It wasn't the same, though. She needed to see his face…the way his eyes would light up if he was amused by something…the small lift of his chin when he was making an attempt to keep his opinions to himself…the ease of his smile that reassured her that he was happy…

She missed it all.

She missed him. Terribly.

She still couldn't imagine trying to repay him for how he'd seen her through everything that had happened over the last two years. He hadn't left her side if he could help it after Neville's funeral, and when she'd finally seen her way clear of her guilt and grief, he'd been there still. Making sure, as he'd always done, that she was enjoying her life.

Which is why their present separation was almost unbearable. For the last two years, she'd seen him every day, and for the eight years before that, almost every day. Heaven help her, she'd gotten used to him being around. And now that he wasn't, she felt his absence almost physically. It was as if she had a space inside of her that couldn't be filled with more hours at the hospital or hanging out with Harry and Ginny.

The space could only be filled by Ron, and if Harry didn't hurry up and get here already, she'd be forced to hex him into next week.

What would it be like to see Ron after all this time apart? The question had plagued her unmercifully ever since getting his letter inviting her to visit, and she wasn't any closer to answers now than she had ever been. All she knew was that it would be a severe test of her restraint and strength to not throw herself at him the moment she saw him. For the one thing she wanted most in the world was to feel his arms around her again.

The last time he'd held her they'd been in the kitchen of the Burrow on the night he left for Italy. She had clung to him as if she'd never let go, but when they had finally parted, the look in his eyes had reassured her that everything was going to be just fine. He had given her a slow, soft smile, but when she couldn't return it, it had faded from his face, replaced with an intensity in his eyes that she had never seen there before. Seconds later, however, he'd turned from her and said goodbye to his parents before apparating to the Cannons clubhouse to travel with the rest of the team.

Hermione collapsed into the armchair facing the kitchen and stared blankly at the tidiness of her living space.

The way she felt about Ron had shifted and changed so much over the course of their friendship that she was finding it hard to see what was real and what was just her wishful thinking. There had been a time, what seemed like forever ago, when they had both been incredibly close to admitting they felt more than friendship for each other. It had been the most confusing, frustrating, exhilarating time of her life…but it had been cut short by their search for the remaining horcruxes and their involvement in the war.

After that, their friendship had never been more solid. They depended on each other and needed each other more and more each day, but it came at a small price. Their other feelings had fallen to the wayside. It had been impossible to both heal properly and analyze their relationship at the same time. She didn't regret the road they'd taken, but she couldn't help feeling a bit sad when she thought of the opportunity that might not ever come again.

Now, she was embarking upon her career as a healer, and he was traveling the world with the Cannons. They rarely saw each other, and although they found a way to stay involved in each other's lives, it wasn't the same.

She couldn't help wondering if he'd found someone to keep him busy when the team wasn't playing. A small tug pulled at her stomach, making her realize that even if she'd shelved thoughts of the two of them long ago, she wasn't above the petty schoolgirl jealousy that reared its ugly head when it came to thinking about him and another woman that wasn't her.

Rubbing a hand wearily across her eyes, she chided herself for her silliness. Ron was her friend – her best friend – and if she didn't stop acting like a mindless twit, she'd ruin what little time they would have together this weekend.

And she'd missed him too much to waste one single second.

Just then, Hermione heard a key working in her lock and she whipped around to face the door. Harry entered a second later, looking chagrined and apologetic.

"I know, I know," he said by way of a greeting, letting his overnight bag fall unceremoniously to the floor at his feet. "I'm sorry I'm late, but there was a big blow-up at the Scotland game and neither side wanted to back down…"

He chose the armchair opposite hers and sank into it wearily. "I would have sent Hedwig ahead with a note, but that would have just wasted time I needed to spend dealing with overheated, opinionated Quidditch jocks."

Hermione stifled a giggle, opting instead to roll her eyes at him. "It wasn't long ago you were an overheated, opinionated Quidditch jock, so be nice," she scolded lightly, although there was no malice in her tone. She knew how hard Harry worked at his position in the Magical Games and Sports Division of the Ministry.

Harry huffed and ran his hands through his unruly hair, making it stick out in a hundred different directions. "I was never this bad. Want to know what the fight was about?"

She didn't, really. She wanted to get going so they could go see another opinionated Quidditch jock. It didn't matter what she wanted, though, since Harry had already continued talking.

"And then the captain of the Irish team said that the bludger wasn't even regulation size, so every goal scored after his injury should be discounted. I swear, Hermione, you're lucky I'm here at all," he said, leaning his head back against the soft cushioning of the chair.

Hermione was afraid he'd doze off right there and then. It wasn't that she didn't care about his day or anything, but if he decided to grab a quick nap, she'd have another hour or so to slowly drive herself mental.

"So, are you ready to get going, then?" she asked suddenly, pushing off of the armchair. Harry's surprised eyes met hers as she hovered above him, and after a moment, they softened into a look of understanding and amusement.

"Anxious, are we?" he teased, trying to stifle the grin that so evidently wanted to spread across his face.

"No," she huffed, putting her hands on her hips. "I've just been sitting around for two hours waiting for you to finish work, and I don't exactly fancy having to sit around for another two while you take a nap."

Harry laughed and rose out of his own chair, looking down on her from only inches away. He put his hands on her shoulders. "I've missed him too, Hermione," he said lightly.

She sighed, expelling the breath wearily. She should have known that Harry would understand. She had to stop letting her emotions run wild like this. It made her feel like a stranger in her own skin, and with another steadying breath, she allowed herself to smile back at him.

"Just let me splash some water on my face and we can get going," he said, releasing her and walking toward the bathroom.

As Hermione watched him walk away, her conscience pricked at her. "Harry, I was being silly. We have plenty of time…if you want, I can make you something to eat," she said, causing him to stop with his hand on the bathroom knob and turn to face her.

"No, that's alright," he said, his eyes still holding their amused look. "And it's not just because you're the world's worst cook."

He ducked into the bathroom before she could hurl an insulting retort at him, but it didn't matter. They would be leaving soon, and she would be seeing Ron again.

* * *

When they arrived at the designated apparition point, Harry said that they had to walk about a half a mile to the stadium through the small town of Napoli. Hermione was glad for it; her stomach had started knotting up again, and the walk would do her good.

The town was incredibly charming, and Hermione found herself getting lost in the Italian architecture. She knew from Ron's letters that the team spent a lot of time in the town, and she could see why. It had everything they needed, including a small, welcoming pub which Harry informed her was a local hangout and a favorite of the Cannons when they were here in Italy.

"Well, we're here," Harry announced, gesturing ahead of him at the massive structure standing before them.

"I can see that," Hermione fussed, her hands immediately going from smoothing her shirt over her jeans to her hair. "No need to state the obvious, Harry."

"Alright," he smirked at her. "Then I suppose I won't say that you look like you're about to be sick."

She spared a long-suffering look at him and he chuckled. "It's going to be fine, Hermione. He's missed you as much as you've missed him. Nothing's going to be different."

That was what she was afraid of…

They entered the stadium and instantly they heard the magnified voices of the Chudley Cannons. Hermione winced at the sheer volume of the noise and glanced at Harry, whose eyes had lit up upon hearing the very familiar Quidditch terminology.

"Why do they have to amplify their voices?" she asked, raising the volume of her own voice so she could be heard.

It was Harry's turn to give her a long-suffering look. "It's so the captains can talk to all the players, no matter where they are on the field, and they can answer each other without wearing out their voices."

"Oh." She steeled herself against the loud sounds bouncing around before her as they entered the main arena. They found a spot against the bottom row of benches where they could sit and wait for practice to be over.

Hermione's eyes immediately began searching for Ron. She found him almost instantly, and when she saw him perform a lazy loop around the posts as the Chasers were setting up some sort of rushing play, her pulse began thudding painfully in her veins.

There he was. He was less lanky than she remembered him being, but of course he would have filled out a bit after all the Quidditch he'd been playing, practically non-stop for the last year. His hair had gotten longer from what she could tell, and she wondered idly how he could even see the Chasers barreling down on him like they were now.

"He's looking good isn't he?" Harry asked, breaking her out of her close inspection.

Hermione blushed and averted her gaze. "Well, he certainly looks as if Italy agrees with him," she said, flustered that Harry would ask such a personally pointed question.

Harry looked at her quizzically for a moment, then barked out a short guffaw. "I meant he looks like he's gotten really good at Keeper in the past few months."

Hermione felt her cheeks redden even more, and she kicked at a large pebble by her foot. "Of course you did," she said, trying to cover. "And I meant that his training in Italy must be agreeing with him."

"Of course you did," repeated Harry, his voice laced with amusement. She shoved him with her side, and he laughed again. "It's alright, Hermione. It's not like I haven't been around the two of you for the last ten years or so. I'm not completely clueless, no matter what you and Ginny might think."

She didn't think her embarrassment could be any more complete than it was right now.

She was wrong.

"Hey, Weasley, are those the friends you've been waiting on?"

Whomever had spoken had forgotten to take the amplifying charm off his voice, and the words echoed around the stadium just as Ron tossed the Quaffle out to the waiting Chaser.

His head whipped around, and when his eyes landed on them, she could see the smile cross his face even from where she was sitting.

"Wait, is that Harry?" another man said, also forgetting to muffle his voice. "Heya there, Harry!"

Harry raised his hand in recognition of the other man, grinning at Hermione. "That's Marcus Felden. He's a legacy on the team…54 years old and still kicking around up there with the 'young bucks', as he calls them."

"Who's the pretty little lass you've got sittin' next to you?" the older man called back. Hermione fought the silly urge to duck behind Harry's shoulder as the amplified voice announced his question to the entire team.

Now all eyes were on her, and she felt like sinking through the bench. She saw Ron fly up to his inquisitive teammate, touching his wand to his throat as he moved. At least Ron had the sense to take off the amplifying charm.

"Hermione Granger, eh?" Marcus called out, waving now at her. "I've read about you young lady. Clever as well as pretty…what are you doing hanging around with these two knuckle-heads?"

Ron's captains obviously knew that regaining any semblance of control now would be a useless endeavor, so they dismissed everyone with a reminder about the practice game tomorrow morning.

Ron was the first to touch down, and Harry and Hermione were out on the grass before he could shoulder his broom.

Hermione's hands were shaking so badly she had to put them inside her pockets. As Ron approached, she couldn't help but take him all in. His hair really was longer than she'd ever seen it, but she loved how it curled over the back of his collar and fell across his forehead. He walked with a confidence in his stride that she'd never seen there before, and it set her heart pounding even harder than it was.

As he got closer, she could see his face clearly. There was an easy smile on his face and the only thought that was coursing through her spinning mind now was that her best friend had never looked happier. He had never seemed so sure of himself and his surroundings as he did now…here…

"Hey!" he called out, jogging the last few feet to them and dropping his broom before swooping Hermione into his arms. She barely had a moment to think about the fact that all the worrying she'd done about their first meeting after all this time had been for nothing. She let herself relax into his embrace and even allowed herself to enjoy it.

Ron was here, holding her, and it did in fact seem that he'd missed her as much as she'd missed him.

When he finally did release her, she stepped back so he could greet Harry as well. In truth, she wanted another minute to look him over and assure herself that he was in fact real.

His easy grin was still in place when he shook Harry's hand, clapping him on the shoulder soundly. "The boys are already talking about who gets you tomorrow in the scrimmage."

"I don't know," Harry said, clearly relishing the idea of playing again. "I think last time was enough."

Ron waved off his comment and turned to Hermione. His eyes glinted in the late afternoon sun, making him look positively mischievous. "I'm guessing we can't talk you into getting up there?"

Hermione laughed, finding his carefree attitude and happiness quite infectious. "Not on your life."

"Ah, well. You'll just get to have a bit of a lie-in then," he said, swooping down quickly to collect his broom. "Which you very well may need after tonight's pub crawl."

"Pub crawl?" she asked, her eyes shifting from Ron to a now-laughing Harry. "I'm afraid to ask."

"Good," Harry and Ron said at the same time, sharing a very wicked grin if she did say so herself.

"So I have to head back to the dorms to shower and change, but we can check you into the inn first if you want," Ron said to her, gesturing toward the bag over her shoulder.

"No, it's alright. We can walk back with you and then I'll pick it up after dinner."

Just then, a rather large man with a captain's letter on his cloak came striding up behind Ron, shoving him good-naturedly in the back.

"Next time you have visitors, Weasley, how about a little bit of warning?" the man said, his tone light and teasing.

"Sorry about that, Evan," said Harry, reaching forward to shake the man's outstretched hand. "Didn't mean to scare off your team."

Evan waved off his apology. "No worries, Harry. This sorry lot wasn't doing all that well before you arrived as it was."

Ron rolled his eyes at him, but Hermione could tell he held nothing but respect for the captain of his team. "Come off it," he said to Evan, who was now standing there grinning with his arms folded across his chest. "You'll have them thinking the trip out here was a waste of time. This will be the first time Hermione's seen the Cannons play, after all."

Evan turned to face Hermione and extended his hand. "I'm assuming that would be you, despite Ron's utter lack of introductory manners."

Hermione laughed and shook his head. "Nice to meet you. We really are sorry we stopped practice."

Evan's eyes glinted as he released her hand. "We were done anyway. I do have a word of caution for you, though. The boys are all extremely curious about you already, and since they've met Harry before, plan on being bombarded with about a million questions from a bunch of unruly ignorant fools."

Hermione looked over to Ron and Harry, who were both staring at her with barely contained grins. They obviously knew the men on the team well, and she didn't know whether they were smiling because what Evan had said was so ludicrous and out of character for them, or whether it was because what he'd said was true.

"I think I can handle it," she said, unsure.

Evan sized her up quickly. "I don't doubt that."

They began walking back to the dorms, and as Evan engaged Harry in an intense conversation about next year's scheduled World Cup tournament, Ron fell back a step and shortened his stride to match hers.

"How have you been?" he asked, grinning that same easy grin she'd seen on his face when he'd landed on the pitch. "Anything exciting at work lately?"

"I've been good," she said, returning his smile. "Work has been hectic, but nothing all that exciting. My boss said she's going to sign my application for early exams, so I'll be able to get out of the intern program within the next six months."

"That's fantastic," he said, pride shining in his eyes. "Of course, it's expected, but it's still fantastic."

She laughed, swatting him on the arm. "I've been much better lately with all of that. In fact, you'd be proud of me. Ginny was supposed to help me study for the last exam, but when she came over we chucked the whole thing and went out for dinner."

"Wild woman," he smirked, earning him another swat. "Is she still coming in tomorrow night?"

Hermione nodded. "She wanted to come with us, but she had a group of ambassadors to meet with early tomorrow morning that couldn't be rescheduled."

Ron tsked and shook his head. "Just like my sister. Putting foreign ambassadors before her own brother."

As Ron continued his fake rant against his sister, Hermione couldn't help but stare at his profile. He really was the most relaxed and happy she'd seen him. A surge of emotion rushed through her so quickly that it almost winded her. She loved seeing him like this. It was as if he was allowed, finally, to be himself in his entirety.

"What?" he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

"What?" she echoed, embarrassed that she'd been caught in her careful perusal of him.

"You were looking at me funny," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Kind of like I had dirt on my nose or something."

Hermione laughed quietly at his little private joke, but all the sweet memory served to do was make the ache in her just a little stronger. She was afraid that if he kept this up, all of the thoughts she'd vowed to keep under control while she visited would be gone by the time they got back to his dormitory.

"I'm just happy to see you, is all," she said honestly. She could give him at least that much.

The other corner of his mouth lifted. "I'm happy to be seen."

She smiled back at him, unconscious of anything but his eyes on her face. He seemed to be looking for something only he could see, but after a moment, he let his gaze slide off her as they approached the pathway to the entrance to the dormitory.

"There's a lounge on the bottom floor that you and Harry can hang out in while I go upstairs to get changed," he said. "I promise I won't be long."

"Take your time," she said, following Harry and Evan through the door Ron was now holding open. "We're going to be here a few days."

"Yeah, you are," Ron said happily, shooting a wave over his shoulder as he and Evan entered the stairwell to the upper floors.

Hermione stood in the middle of the lounge, watching the door close behind them.

"They have these amazing inventions, you know," Harry said, breaking into her thoughts. "They're called sofas, and it turns out they're really good for sitting on."

Hermione turned to face him, her lips pursed. Harry was really enjoying every second of this, and if Ginny didn't hurry up and arrive to take his mind off teasing her, she would never forgive her.

"Very funny, Harry," she said, sinking down onto one of the sofas facing the windows.

"So what do you think?" he asked, sitting next to her on the sofa and putting his feet up on the low table. "He looks happy, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does," she said, smiling without realizing it. "In fact, I don't think I've ever seen him this happy before."

Harry laced his hands behind his head. "I know. Being out here with the Cannons really agrees with him," – he shot her a teasing look – "as you mentioned before."

"It's strange," she said, pointedly ignoring his remark, "I knew from his letters that he was having fun out here, but it's totally different seeing it in person."

"He deserves this," Harry said, dropping all hints of teasing now. "It's like he gets a chance to forget that the last few years even happened."

Hermione looked at the side of his face. "Is that what you do?" she asked, curious to hear what Harry would say. She knew that the war had impacted them all differently, but out of all of them, Harry talked about it the least. "Forget that the war happened?"

"Not really," Harry said, shrugging. "I mean, I don't think about it as much as I used to. I just meant that Ron went through a lot of stuff that maybe he wouldn't have ever had to go through under different circumstances, and now he gets to enjoy an actual life now."

"We all do," Hermione said, curling her legs onto the couch beside her. "But you're right. It's nice to see him doing what he's always wanted to do."

Not more than five minutes later, Ron bounded into the waiting area. Hermione couldn't help but watch him as he strode over, looking quite fetching in his jeans and a casual t-shirt.

"I don't know about the two of you, but I'm starving," he said as he reached the two of them. He looked to Harry for support in his efforts to get food into his mouth as soon as possible, to which Harry grinned and stood up as well.

"What do you say, Hermione?" Ron asked, turning his attention to her. "Ready to see Napoli?"

She got up off the sofa and didn't realize how close she was standing to Ron until she tried to move and almost tripped over his feet. He caught her arm and waited until she righted herself…as she died of humiliation. Now she was so disturbed by his presence that she couldn't even stand solidly on the ground?

"I'll take that as a yes," he joked, releasing her arm. "I want to show you the town, but it's going to have to wait until after dinner. I can't remember the last time I ate."

They made their way out of the dormitory, Harry making a smart comment about short-term memory loss, and Ron retorting with a wisecrack of his own. Hermione stayed silent, watching the two men she loved most in the world (besides her father, of course) and realizing that the emptiness she'd been feeling for the past few months was no longer there.

As always, with them, she felt complete. And Ron was the one who made her whole.

* * *

All throughout dinner Hermione kept lapsing into long bouts of silence, preferring to watch Harry and Ron as they joked around, shoveled food into their mouths and then joked around some more. It reminded her a lot of when they'd been in school together, before their fourth year when everything had started to get so…complicated.

She didn't want anything to spoil how right this all felt, and that included her own wandering thoughts. She would most definitely not dwell on the fact that Ron's hair fell charmingly into his eyes whenever he leaned over the table. She wouldn't let the tingling rush under her skin whenever their arms brushed get the better of her. She wouldn't give into the desire to simply stare at his profile and half-wish for, half-dread, the moment he'd look up and catch her staring.

No, things were fine just the way they were.

After dinner, they took a long walk around the village. Hermione and Harry did much of the talking, catching Ron up on news from home. When the sky started darkening, signaling the end of their perusal of the town and its surroundings, Ron suggested they head to the pub to meet up with the team.

"We don't have to stay long," he said, noticing Hermione's apprehensive look. "I see those guys all the time."

"No, it's fine," she assured him. "We're here to see you, and if this is what you do on nights before a scrimmage, than that's what we'll do, too."

He led them to the pub and the second he walked through the door, Hermione knew she was in for a long, stressful night. The team had already secured a long table to the back of the pub, and began singing chants at them the moment they spotted them.

"Ah, here's the gang now!" yelled Anthony, a burly, sandy-haired beater. "You lot are just in time. We have all these pints and no one to claim them!"

Evan slid his own pint over to Hermione as she took a seat at the table. Ron laughed, grabbing one from the middle of the table as he slid in next to her. "You guys don't waste any time, do you?" he said.

Evan grinned, sharing a look with his teammates. "That's just a small bribe for your friends to get them to tell some stories about you, Weasley. You know, from before you became a hero of the free world and an International Quidditch star."

Ron laughed and placed his arms across his chest. "See, that's the rub, mates. They're my best friends, not yours, and they'd never say anything to embarrass me. Especially Hermione here."

Hermione raised her eyebrows first at Ron, then at Harry, who had quite a wicked grin on his face as he turned to face the team.

For the next hour or so, Hermione and Harry took turns telling any story they could think of about Ron from the years since they'd first met him. With every story told, Ron would feign more and more disgust that his business was being broadcast to his teammates, but the wide grin on his face just egged them on even more.

Hermione leaned away from his arm and grabbed her pint glass. "Well, there was this one time when he hiccoughed slugs for about two days," she said demurely. "And then there was the severe crush he had on his sister-in-law when she first visited our school. Little did he know she was going to marry his brother in a few short years…he was quite taken with her," she said, only letting a little of the old jealousy she felt for Fleur creep into her tone.

Marcus slapped his thigh. "She wound up becoming your sister-in-law?" he asked, laughing. "You poor bloke."

"Yeah, well, she's part veela," Ron said, as if that explained anything.

"I don't know why you men find it so hard to resist them," Hermione sniffed. "Their beauty is based on very old magic."

Marcus leaned closer to her, to be heard over the other men's loud lists of all the reasons it was impossible to resist a veela. "What these young bucks don't realize yet is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What is beautiful to all is of course a pleasure to look at, but true beauty ensnares a man to the point where he can't ever see a woman the same way again." He nodded his head toward Ron and Harry and said, "I'm sure your friends think you are the prettiest thing in any room they're in."

Hermione snorted, pushing her hair behind her ears. "I doubt it. Harry's girlfriend, you know, Ron's sister…she's unbelievably beautiful, and whenever she's around it would be useless to even try and get Harry's attention."

"What about our Mr. Weasley then?" Marcus asked, raising his eyebrows. "Does he appreciate the stunning young woman I see before me right now?"

She averted her eyes, finding the channel the conversation had taken very unsettling. She didn't want to think about how Ron saw her. She didn't think she wanted to know. And it wasn't because of something as superficial as beauty – she didn't think she was all that horrible looking, after all. She had just always had a very set idea of what Ron's idea of beauty was, and she was well aware that she didn't fit it. She had heard him go on about it enough in school and had seen the women he'd always singled out as objects of his attentions.

"What do you two have your heads together about?" Ron asked, interrupting her conversation with Marcus. His eyes searched her face, and she tried to erase the contemplative look from it before he saw it and asked her what was wrong.

"We were discussing beauty and how it's different for everyone," said Marcus, leaning back in his chair. "How the way a man feels about a woman transforms her before his very eyes."

Ron stared blankly at Marcus, his brows drawn together. "Why in the world are you talking about that?" he asked.

"Because my proof is waiting for me at home," Marcus answered, standing up and tossing some coins onto the table. He signaled a goodnight to everyone, and, winking at Hermione, he left.

It was at that point that the rest of the team decided it was time to change locations.

"Off to Moritzio's then," announced Evan, collecting everyone's coins and placing them neatly in the middle of the table. "After you, Hermione," he said, holding out her chair so she could get up.

Ron groaned and shoved Evan's hand aside. "The poor woman has been asked to answer ridiculous questions, talk about things that happened over seven years ago, and has endured all of our loud obnoxiousness. Don't add getting hit on to the list of travesties of the night."

Evan laughed. "I was just being polite, Weasley," he said, jabbing Ron in the ribs. "No need to fear."

Ron rolled his eyes at him and put his hand on Hermione's back to guide her out of the pub. Her skin tingled where his hand rested, and she found herself reveling in the fact that it stayed there long after they'd cleared the entrance to the pub.

As they made their way down the cobblestone street, she shot a look at him out of the corner of her eye and saw him laughing at something Harry had said. Her physical reaction to him this time came swiftly and with the precision of a well-aimed spell.

His transformation into this completely charming, easy-going man was making her see him through fresh eyes. Her attraction to him had never been in question; but she'd always been able to curb the answer. Now, however, she didn't trust herself to be near him and not show, in some small way, what he was doing to her.

She put a little physical distance between them, but with the size of the group they were traveling in, he didn't seem to notice. When they finally reached the pub, she was grateful to see that it, too, was crowded and noisy. Maybe all the commotion would be enough to quiet her own wayward thoughts.

No such luck.

The second they got to the table, the team started filing in, filling up an immense amount of space. Harry slid into the booth, followed by Ron, and when Hermione sat down she realized she was practically falling off the seat. She straightened her back and made herself as small as possible so she wouldn't have to sit right up against Ron's warm, solid side. It was immensely uncomfortable, but it beat having to ignore the pulsing in her veins every time he made the slightest move.

His arm sprawled out against the back of the bench behind her shoulders, and although the action was completely innocent and done only to give him a bit more space, her heart sped up at the intimacy it created. All she had to do was lean a bit to the right and it would appear to all concerned that they were indeed more than good friends.

"Hey, Ron, isn't that the little chippy who's always flaunting herself around you?" Devin, the tall, dark skinned Chaser announced, leaning across the table toward him. "Sophia, isn't it?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to where Devin was indicating before she could stop herself. There was in fact a small, pretty brunette eyeing their table closely from her seat with about four other women. When her eyes landed on Ron, a smile broke out on her lovely face and Hermione's heart practically stopped in her chest.

She tried to keep herself from looking over to Ron to see his reaction, but it was a power greater than herself. His eyes were scanning the pub, almost in disinterest, but when they landed on the woman in question, the corner of his mouth lifted.

"She doesn't flaunt herself around me," he said, signaling to the passing waitress. She stopped and began taking their orders as Ron continued. "She's just a fan of Quidditch, is all."

Devin started laughing, slapping the table in his mirth. "Yeah, right. That's why she always ignores the rest of us and is staring over at you right now like she wants to order you instead of another drink."

Hermione shifted on her seat, giving herself even more room between herself and Ron, and practically falling off the bench as a result. Ron's arm reached over to steady her, and he pulled her closer to him. "Watch yourself," he said, shooting her a grin. "You don't want these blokes thinking you can't handle your ale."

Hermione tried to smile at him, but her insides felt twisted and heavy. She just didn't know what to think any more, and she hated that she was ruining what little time they had together by feeling so confused and unsure of herself.

She forced a smile onto her face and relaxed against the bench. She would not do this. She would not spoil the chance to spend time with him just because she couldn't figure out what was going on in her stupid, over-analytical mind.

"Are you going to order something, or have you had enough for the night?" Ron asked, pointing up at the waitress who was standing patiently by the end of their table.

"Oh, um, I guess I'll have whatever everyone else is having," she said, giving the woman a half-hearted smile. The waitress nodded and left to fill their order, and when she cleared their table, Hermione's eyes found the small brunette staring over their way again, her eyes pinned on Ron.

"Ron, I think that woman wants to talk to you," she said, forcing the words out of her throat. "She keeps looking over here."

Ron looked over at the table where the woman sat, and Hermione saw the woman wave casually at him. He lifted his hand in greeting, but turned his attention to Hermione. "I'm fine where I am," he said, smiling down at her.

Hermione's pulse jumped so quickly she was almost winded, and before she let herself get lost in his damned blue eyes she looked away. She did, however, shift almost imperceptibly closer to him on the bench, happy that he wasn't going to forsake his time with them for someone else.

They spent the next hour or so laughing at stories that the men told about their own schooling, and Hermione felt herself relaxing into the evening. Ron's teammates really were good guys, and she was happy that he had them. She had Harry and Ginny, and although they were usually together, she knew that she couldn't ask for a better support system when things went wrong. It made her feel better knowing Ron could go to any one of these men for help and they'd be willing to give it in a heartbeat.

After a few more rounds of drinks, she could tell that the evening was beginning to wind down. Some of the men with families started leaving, and those that remained were beginning to look a little tired. How they were going to be able to get up in a few hours and play a full scrimmage was beyond her.

When Evan stifled a yawn a few minutes later, Hermione knew they'd be leaving. As captain of the team, they all obviously took their cues from him as to when enough was enough. The group began to disband, tossing money onto the table as the scratching of chairs punctuated the evening's end.

Just as Hermione was sliding out of the booth, she caught the woman Ron had waved at earlier heading over tentatively. When she reached the table, she heard a few of the men greet her by name, indicating that she had indeed been introduced to them on more than one occasion.

"Hello," she greeted them with a generous smile. Hermione could tell that she was a native of Italy from the strength of her accent, but she appeared to be in complete control of her English. "There is a game tomorrow, then?" she asked, proving she was fairly well-versed in the Cannons little rituals.

"A scrimmage," said Evan, plunking down his own money. "The game is Saturday."

"Oh," said the pretty brunette, her eyes wandering over to Ron. Most of the other men had already started for the door, and Hermione felt wildly uncomfortable. Should she stand here and wait for Ron, when it was obvious that this woman had come over to speak to him in particular? She glanced over at Harry, who, true to form, looked to be oblivious to the situation at hand.

"Hello, Ron," the woman said, now putting full force into her smile. "How have you been?"

"I've been fine, thanks, Sophia," he said, smiling back at her. "How are things going?"

"Very well, thank you," she said, casting a quick glance at Hermione, who could do little else but stand there, watching closely for any sign that the two of them might have something more than pleasantries going on between them. "Are these your friends? I haven't seen them around before."

"Yes, they are. Harry Potter," he said indicating Harry, who had just come to stand next to Hermione. Harry smiled at her and received a smile in return. Hermione noticed that the woman's eyes didn't automatically glance to his forehead, and she didn't seem fazed at all by the mention of Harry's name. "And Hermione Granger," Ron continued, indicating her next. "Guys, this is Sophia Matteo."

Hermione smiled at the woman, hoping that it didn't appear as flat as she felt it was. Sophia smiled her, and it was then that Hermione saw the gauging reaction in her eyes. Hermione knew what she was doing. She was sizing her up, trying to figure out whether she was strictly Ron's friend, or if she was something more.

Every instinct within her wanted to move closer to Ron and put her hand on his arm, or something equally as possessive-looking, but she restrained herself. Instead, she cleared her throat. "It's nice to meet you," she said.

"Likewise," Sophia said, bestowing another quick smile before turning her attention to Ron again. "Are there still tickets available for the game on Saturday?" she asked, peering up at him through her thick lashes.

"I think so," said Ron, laughing. "We're not that popular yet."

"But you will be," Sophia said in her Italian-accentuated English. "You are very good."

Hermione squirmed where she stood and looked over at Harry again. She didn't want to be standing here, listening to this woman casually flirting with Ron right in front of them. Harry had finally picked up on the mildly awkward situation and to his credit, he looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

"Thanks," Ron said, smiling down at her. Then he looked up to find Harry and Hermione watching him carefully. He tossed some coins on the table and gave Sophia one last smile. "I'll see you Saturday, then."

Sophia looked momentarily thrown, as if she wasn't expecting to be brushed off so quickly, causing Hermione to wonder even more than before about the depths to which the two of them knew each other. Her chest began to tighten, and she did her best to keep her face neutral as Ron moved to stand next to them.

"Alright," Sophia said, recovering quickly. "Good luck, Ron," she said, holding his gaze for a long moment before turning to rejoin her table of friends.

Hermione looked over at Ron to see if she could get anything from the expression on his face, but he wasn't paying the situation any mind. He was checking his pocket to make sure he had his wand. When he'd made sure it was where he left it, he signaled that it was time to go.

As they made their way down the street towards the inn she had checked into after dinner, Hermione felt as if the question she so desperately wanted to ask was burning in her throat. She silently prayed that Harry would remain true to his promise to never use Legilemency on her, since she was pretty sure he would be shocked at the things she was thinking right now.

They reached the inn in a matter of minutes, and she was surprised to find herself wishing, for the first time in their long friendship, that Harry wasn't around right now. She was so surprised by the errant thought, in fact, that she was barely aware of saying goodnight to either of them. The next thing she knew, she was watching them walk away as they made their way back down the street in the direction of the stadium.

She watched them go until they'd disappeared from sight, and with a heavy sigh of disappointment in herself and confusion at the whole thing, she turned on her heel and prepared herself for a rather sleepless night of unanswerable questions and confessions she wasn't quite ready to face.

* * *

Even though she had never understood her friends' obsessions with Quidditch, it didn't mean that she didn't enjoy a good game of it from time to time. Besides, watching Ron as he effortlessly looped his goal posts made her happy. She knew he was doing what he'd always wanted to do, and he was obviously enjoying every minute he was up there.

The scrimmage was an interesting one to say the least, especially since the Cannons had roped Harry into playing after all. They had split themselves into two teams, and apparently they had enough players to make the two full squads…minus an extra seeker. So Hermione's interest was doubled when she saw Harry take to the sky and do what he'd always loved best.

She lost herself in watching her two best friends have as much fun as she'd ever seen them have, tossing off comments to each other if Harry passed close enough. It made her heart swell with emotion to such an extent that when the game was finally over, she was almost glad. Any more of it and she would have most likely burst into tears and made a complete fool of herself.

As they flew back down to the pitch, Harry tossed the snitch he'd caught to Evan who was loudly trying to recruit him as backup seeker for the team. Hermione couldn't hear Harry's response, but judging from the look on his face, he was sorely tempted.

"I hope he has enough sense to say no."

Hermione jumped at the comment and turned quickly to see Ginny grinning out over the pitch as she watched her boyfriend and her brother walking toward them.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione exclaimed as Ginny took a seat next to her on the bleachers. "I thought you weren't getting in until tonight."

"The meeting was cut short," Ginny responded, nudging her in the side. "Besides, I thought you needed me more than a bunch of old, stuffy ambassadors. It couldn't have been easy being the only female among this bunch last night."

Hermione laughed. "It wasn't so bad, but I am glad you're here."

Ginny turned her full attention on her then. "So, how was it seeing him after all this time? Did you fall into his arms? Or did he fall into yours?"

She felt herself blushing despite the fact that she knew Ginny was just teasing her. She always had when it came to her brother. "Neither of us did any such thing," Hermione said primly, although she averted her eyes. It was Ginny's turn to laugh, but to her credit, she dropped it almost immediately. It was just as well, since Ron and Harry had both spotted her by this time, and had increased their speed to reach them.

"Hey, Gin," Harry called out, dropping his broom and climbing the bleachers quickly. Ginny stood up in time to be engulfed in his arms, and Hermione could only watch on in amazement as the two of them carried on like they hadn't seen each other in weeks as opposed to a day and a half.

She swung her gaze away from them quickly as they leaned into each other for a kiss, and her eyes met Ron's. He rolled his eyes at their behavior, making her laugh, but she couldn't help but wonder what it was like to have someone miss you so much that a day's separation could feel like an eternity.

"Ginny, you think you could spare a hug for your brother? You know, the one you haven't seen in months?" Ron said sarcastically, swatting at Harry's legs with his broom.

Ginny detangled herself from Harry's embrace and threw herself into her brother's arms. "I've missed you so much," she said, disregarding his comment and looking as if she would squeeze the life out of him. "It's been so boring around the house without you there."

Ron released her, grinning. "I've missed you too. How are mum and dad?"

Ginny's eyes began to shine so brightly that Hermione immediately knew that something was up. She searched her brain trying to figure out what it could possibly be since she'd just seen Ginny a few days ago.

"They're fine," Ginny said happily, then she shook her head. "No, that's actually an understatement. They're beside themselves."

At Ron's confused look, she grinned even wider. "They wanted me to let you know that you're going to be an uncle."

For a moment, the words hung in the air around them. Then, with almost painful slowness, Ron's eyes lowered to Ginny's stomach, then snapped immediately to Harry.

Hermione saw Harry's face drain of color as he, too, looked at Ginny. "But that's not…we always…" he stammered, his voice hoarse and croaking.

Ginny rolled her eyes in much the same fashion as Ron had earlier and then looked back and forth between Harry and Ron. "No, you great prats. Bill and Fleur are going to have a baby."

Hermione laughed, breaking the tension in the air as Harry's face went from deathly white to bright red in a matter of seconds and the dangerous look in Ron's eyes faded and was replaced with wonder at the thought of a new generation of Weasleys.

"Really?" he asked, a slow smile crossing his face.

Ginny nodded, grinning back at him. "The baby is due sometime in December, just in time for Christmas," she said excitedly.

Hermione watched Ron's face closely as he digested the fact that he was going to be an uncle. If she had thought that being here in Italy playing Quidditch made him the happiest she'd ever seen him, this new look far eclipsed that. It made her entire body feel electric with longings that she didn't even know she had, and it embarrassed her to know where her thoughts were headed. Babies… Ron…the look on his face when he would finally be holding one with the Weasley red hair, smiling down on him or her…

She shook herself free from the vision just in time to realize that they were starting to make their way down the bleachers. Ron looked back at her, drawing his brows together.

"You coming, Hermione?"

She nodded mutely and got up, walking beside him as they made their way down the steps of the stadium. She heard Ginny scolding Harry in front of them – "Honestly… why don't you just broadcast it next time?" – and tried her best to push the random, confusing thoughts she'd just had out of her mind. It became increasingly difficult to do so, however, since Ron's arm kept brushing against her as they walked.

It seemed like the longer she was around him this weekend, the more her mind betrayed her. She had always been able to compartmentalize the feelings she had for him; to keep them in their places and let them be. Somehow – here in Italy – it was harder for her to do that. And that thought scared her most of all.

Ron ran in to change just as he had the day before, and Ginny was introduced to the straggling players by Harry as they entered the dormitory one by one. More than one of the men made comments about how lucky Weasley was to be visited by two beautiful women, causing both Ginny and Hermione to blush as Harry groaned at their attempts to flatter them. Still, Hermione noticed that Harry stayed right up against Ginny's side the entire time, even reaching out to hold her hand between them as the last of the players made their way inside.

Dinner that night was just as wonderful as the night before; even more so now that Ginny was there to share the evening. They laughed at Ginny's reenactment of her father's face when Bill had told him he'd be a grandfather, and Hermione saw the wistful look cross Ron's face briefly as Ginny went on to explain that the twins were also over for dinner when Bill had told them. Of course it had occurred to her that he would miss home after all this time, but when she'd seen how happy he was here, she assumed that he was getting along just fine.

"I'm sure mum had kittens when she found out," Ron commented lightly, although Hermione could see that he was still looking a bit homesick.

"She sure did. Started crying as soon as they told her and from what I could tell, she hadn't stopped when I left to go to work this morning," Ginny said, reaching for another breadstick.

"Did Fred and George at least behave themselves?" Hermione piped in, wanting desperately to erase the slightly lost look in Ron's eyes.

"Of course not," Ginny said, laughing. "The second they heard, they started taking the mickey out of Bill, telling him that it was definitely going to be a girl, and that she'd run away with a handsome stranger the second she got the chance."

Harry laughed, as always impressed with the ingenuity and levity of the twins. "I'm sure your mother stopped crying long enough to thrash them a bit for that."

"Not really. She heard the word girl and started crying even harder," said Ginny, shaking her head. "And I really don't blame her. If there's one thing this family desperately needs, it's another female."

When they'd finished dinner, Ron suggested that they take another walk around the town to show Ginny all of his haunts since she hadn't been around last night. The weather was unbelievably beautiful and it was still light out, so they decided to walk along the canals and watch the boats lazily drift by.

Hermione couldn't help but watch Harry and Ginny together. She had, of course, seen them as a couple day in and day out since the war had ended, but it never failed to amaze her how completely in love they were with each other. And here, in this beautiful country, that love seemed almost magnified. Her heart began to ache with such a deep longing to have even a fraction of what they had that the pain almost winded her.

She had never considered herself lonely before. She loved her job and she was surrounded by family and friends. Her life was a worthy one, and she felt that she'd accomplished more at her age than most people were ever blessed to achieve.

Still, as she walked behind Harry and Ginny, she looked at their entwined hands with an envy so strong that she eventually had to look away. Her eyes came to rest on Ron, who was also watching the two of them with an unreadable look on his face.

The question that had plagued her sleep last night came rushing back to the forefront of her mind. Had he found someone here that he could be like that with? The woman from the pub…Sophia…had he walked with her by the canals hand in hand, looking out onto the water on a beautiful night like tonight? Did someone fill his days and add to the happiness she had seen clearly written across his face?

She didn't realize how long she'd been studying him until he turned his head and their eyes met. Her first instinct was to turn away quickly and try to pretend she hadn't been staring at him, but her eyes wouldn't obey her. Her second instinct was to smile at him and play it off like she was simply happy to be with all of her friends, but that was also out of her control. So she stared back at him, trying desperately to read the expression in his gaze.

His blue eyes held hers steadily, not judging or examining, or even wondering. They were calm and peaceful, staring into hers with no motive or expectation. She wasn't quite sure how long they stayed like that, but it felt like a small eternity. Neither so much as blinked until Ginny turned back to Ron to ask him what the small boats with the long oar in the back were.

"Gondolas," he answered idly as he slowly tore his gaze away from her. "They're gondolas. It's how the Italian people get around the city."

Hermione felt her breath finally return to her as they continued walking, though this time she kept her eyes trained ahead of her. It was the strangest feeling, but she felt as if she had been marked in some way. Almost as if things that had come before were merely memories, and what was to come was terrifying and strange.

There had been a time before the war, what seemed like lifetimes ago, when she had been young and foolish enough to believe that she fancied her best friend. Things had gone unresolved between them for years, and then in their way they'd been resolved and that had been that. Still, in the darkness when she was alone, she would wonder if their chance really had passed them by. It was one of those questions she'd had no clear answer to, no way of knowing if there was even still the slightest hope of something more.

In this one quiet, private moment, in this foreign land where he'd carved a happy life for himself, she finally felt as if she'd answered that question for herself.

She was fairly certain that she was falling in love with Ron.

All over again.

* * *

_**Next chapter to come very soon. No more of this months off thing. The next one should be up in about a week, depending on how much time I have. As always, my faithful readers, thank you for the time and the interest. I hope I haven't disappointed.**_


	5. Invisible Lines

**Waiting For You**

_**Once again, there are absolutely no words. Paulalou, Jenulus, AngelicOne, Weaselbybaby, KellyMarie, Mrs.CedricDiggory…you have been with me through it all and I hope I can take you straight through this. You all flatter me beyond what I'm worthy of, and it's amazing what simple words can do to brighten a day.**_

**_To those of you that are new to my story, I'm honored that you took the time to tell me what you think of this. Especially finrod…I don't usually review stories either, so I am truly honored that you reviewed mine. And an amazingly speechless thank you to Emerald for your review. I truly did cherish each and every word you wrote. I loved that you told me exactly what you connected with in this story. It helped me understand my own writing better and I thank you for that, too. Thank you to SanJJ for your review as well...as a fellow adult fan I can understand all you said, and that makes it all the more special that you chose to share your kind words._**

_**I hope you are all happy and healthy, and that you ENJOY the rest of this!**_

**Chapter 5 – Invisible Lines**

She knew she was giving herself away, but she couldn't seem to help it. Ever since her…revelation…for lack of a better word, she couldn't seem to concentrate on anything anyone was saying. Their long walk by the canals was coming to an end, and she hadn't spoken since it had started. Ron kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and she could see the question in his gaze.

She hated this. With every step she took, she felt more and more like a stranger in her own skin. She couldn't meet any of her friends' eyes for fear that they would be able to see everything she was so desperately trying to hide.

Thankfully, Ron and Harry eventually began talking about the Quidditch match tomorrow, excusing her from having to participate in the conversation. Ginny, however, was much more astute than either of them. Hermione could feel her eyes on the side of her face and tried to keep her expression as neutrally passive as possible.

She should have known better. Ginny had grown up with six older brothers, and from that upbringing she had acquired the uncanny ability to simply observe people and understand exactly what they were going through. Add to that the seven years of friendship between them, and Hermione knew she didn't stand a chance.

This is why it didn't surprise Hermione all that much when Ginny moved to her side and linked arms with her.

When Ron suggested that they start heading over to the pub for the traditional night out before a match, Ginny finally made her move.

"Why don't you two go on, and we'll meet up with you in about twenty minutes or so," she offered, holding fast to Hermione's arm. "I want to go back to the room and freshen up a bit."

Ron and Harry exchanged a look that clearly expressed how little they understood the concept of freshening up, and without so much as waiting for them to reply, Ginny turned herself and Hermione around and cut a direct path to the inn.

"Now, I'm just going to say one thing, and I hope you are listening," said Ginny, keeping her eyes trained ahead on the road before them. "I know something is wrong and I will not accept, nor believe that you are fine. So please, don't even attempt that line on me."

Hermione couldn't help but give a short laugh at her friend's bluntness. She silently thanked her for being here, because somehow she knew that with Ginny's help, she might just be able to get through the rest of the visit without making a monumental mess out of the most important friendship of her life.

Instead of leading them up to their room, Ginny took a seat in the lobby of the entrance, in the most secluded, quiet corner she could find. Hermione wearily sank down next to her and let her gaze fall on the large potted plant in front of them.

"You look miserable," said Ginny softly. "And I know you can't be because you've been looking forward to this visit for as long as I can remember."

Hermione felt her throat constrict tightly, and she couldn't swallow the lies she'd been feeding herself since…well, probably the day she met him.

"Ginny," she said turning to her, almost whispering her name like a plea for help. "I think I'm in love with Ron."

She had been expecting mildly shocked silence. Maybe a squeak of happiness followed by a litany of plans for the two of them that involved double dating and eventual wedding dress shopping.

What she got instead was a blank stare. Well, not exactly a blank stare…it was more like an even gaze that was waiting patiently for the rest of the confession.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I…um, I said that I…I love your brother."

Ginny continued to stare at her without so much as a twitch in her demeanor. "I heard you," she said calmly.

"Well then, say something," Hermione pleaded, twisting her hands in her lap.

"Hermione," Ginny laughed, breaking the stillness of her features finally, "that's hardly news to me. I've been your friend for a long time. Do you think I haven't noticed how the two of you feel about each other?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's not like that. I mean, there was a time…before the war, when I guess we were sort of close to…but that was a long time ago and now he's here and he's so happy that I don't want to mess anything up for him…" she stammered, feeling her face flush despite her best efforts. Ginny was her dearest girlfriend, but it was a bit strange to be talking to her about her feelings for Ron. He was, after all, her big brother.

Ginny listened to Hermione's rant with the same patience she'd listened to her confession. When she was certain Hermione had finished, she smiled at her warmly. "There is nothing you could ever do to mess up your relationship with Ron. You two have been through more together than most people ever go through in their lives. I guess I just don't see why you have both waited so long to try and make things work, is all."

Hermione sighed helplessly, averting her gaze to a rather large man checking himself in at the front desk. "He's going to be here for another two months, and after that, even though he's coming back home he'll be traveling with the team whenever there is an away game. Plus, my internship starts in a couple of weeks, and my shifts are just going to get longer. The timing is completely wrong."

Ginny's shoulders straightened and a serious look came over her features. "Then when is it going to be the right time, Hermione? He's going to be playing Quidditch probably until he can't anymore, and I don't think you're going to up and quit the hospital any time soon."

The truth behind Ginny's statement cut straight through Hermione's arguments and made her face a very horrifying truth. There would never be a good time to begin something more with Ron because their lives had become exactly what they'd always wanted them to be. Their lives.

"I can't ruin what we have, Ginny. If I lost him, I don't know what I'd do," Hermione said quietly.

Ginny remained silent for so long that Hermione had no choice but to look back at her. Ginny was studying the side of her face in quiet contemplation, an unreadable expression on her face.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"You have never been so scared of anything that you weren't able to take action," Ginny commented finally. "It's strange to see you like this now."

"That's because before it was always something that we could face together. I feel like I'm all alone in this," said Hermione, feeling a wave of sadness sweep over her. "If I tell him and he doesn't feel the same way, I've destroyed our friendship and put you and Harry in a horrible position."

"And what if he does feel the same way?" Ginny challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione pulled her legs up under her and shrugged helplessly. "Well then, what if we do end up together, but then something happens and we break up? I can't watch him disappear from my life, Ginny."

"Can I ask you something?" said Ginny after a while, folding her arms across her chest. "Have you put half as much thought into how wonderful things could be between you as you have into scenarios of why you shouldn't be together?"

Hermione opened her mouth to raise a counter-point, but none came. The truth was, she hadn't actually thought about it at all. Every time she daydreamed of being with Ron she automatically thought of the moment when they would part, and how blindingly painful it would be to lose him.

"I didn't think so," said Ginny softly. Her hand came out to rest on Hermione's arm, pulling her out of her thoughts. "If the two of you have as strong a friendship as you say you do, there shouldn't be anything you can't say to each other."

"It's not that simple, Ginny," Hermione said, shaking her head forcefully.

"Actually, Hermione, it is that simple," Ginny quickly replied. "Besides, this is all useless dialogue anyway. My brother has been crazy about you for so long that I've forgotten when it actually started."

A brief silence fell over them as they each sat there, lost in their own thoughts. Hermione's were swirling around the possibilities that were presented before her…weighing each in their own right and trying desperately to think of the one thing she could say to him that would somehow be the right thing.

"Look, no one said you have to figure this out tonight," Ginny said finally, removing her hand from her arm and getting to her feet. "In fact, maybe you should just concentrate on enjoying the rest of the visit and think things over once you get home."

Hermione felt an odd sensation coursing slowly through her veins, settling somewhere in her gut. It was a moment before she realized what it was.

Disappointment.

She'd almost wanted Ginny to demand that she tell Ron the truth tonight…to put everything out there and see what happened. Now that Ginny had told her to wait, waiting was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted to march up to Ron in the pub, pull him to a secluded corner where they wouldn't be disturbed and pour her heart out to him, then throw herself into his arms and never let go.

What she did instead, though, was get to her own feet and follow Ginny to the entrance of the inn. Their walk to the pub was a silent one, in which Hermione began reigning in the emotional mess she'd made of everything. She vowed to herself that by the time they reached the pub and she was face to face with Ron again, there would be no visible sign of her lack of control over things. She would smile and laugh, and she would help her best friend enjoy the night before his big game. She would wish him luck at the end of the night and walk away.

She would give herself time to think about this logically, and come to the decision that was best for everyone.

As they entered the pub and she spotted Ron leaning back casually against the bench, a dazzling grin on his face as he laughed at something Evan was saying, her heart felt inexplicably heavy.

Sometimes she hated being practical, logical, cautious Hermione Granger.

* * *

Despite Ginny's earlier statement about leaving things alone and thinking things over once they were home again, it didn't seem to stop her from putting in one last-ditch effort. As the Cannons left the pub to retire for the evening, she sidled up to Harry's side and took his hand in hers.

"Harry and I are going for a walk," she announced to Ron and Hermione, who were both still seated at the now almost empty table.

"We are?" questioned Harry. A second later, he winced slightly. "Ow! I mean…" he fumbled, giving their entwined hands a quick look. "Yeah, we're going for a bit of a walk."

Hermione tried to catch Ginny's eye and let her know that the scenario was flimsy and transparent, but Ginny didn't turn her way. Her eyes were trained on her brother.

"You'll make sure Hermione gets back to the inn, won't you Ron?" she asked. Hermione wanted to groan at the light, airy tone Ginny had taken, as if she wasn't capable of walking the hundred or so feet down the road.

"I'll be sure to keep an eye out for the seedy underbelly of this quaint little town, my dear sister," Ron said seriously, straightening his shoulders. "You have my word."

Ginny rolled her eyes at him as she pulled on Harry's hand, leading him away from the table.

"No funny business, Potter!" Ron yelled after them, earning him an off-color signal from Harry as the two of them made their way out of the pub. Ron laughed, turning to Hermione.

"It's nice to know my baby sister came all the way out here so she could snog her boyfriend who she sees practically every day at home," he said, shaking his head. "Those two have gotten pretty silly around each other, haven't they?"

Hermione shrugged, waving at the last players to bid them goodnight and leave the pub. "I don't know. I think it's kind of sweet, actually," she admitted, not quite meeting his eyes. "They're so in love with each other that they want to spend all their time together."

"That's got to be weird for you," he said, the levity leaving his voice. "Don't you feel left out when they get all goofy around you?"

Hermione started to shake her head, but when she thought about it, she realized that she did feel a bit left out when she was around the two of them. Still, they were in love, and that wasn't a bad thing.

"Not really," she said. "I've gotten used to it. They're together all the time, so after a while it just made sense."

Ron nodded slowly, although he didn't look entirely convinced. "It's strange, you know?" he said, pulling out some coins and tossing them on the table. "If you had told me years ago that Harry would ever be this happy…and that it was my sister that would make him this happy…"

Hermione smiled. "It's wonderful, isn't it?"

Ron's eyes shifted to her, pinning her in place with his gaze. She was momentarily lost in the intensity of his blue eyes, but she only allowed it to consume her for a second.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said after a while. "I just…we should probably get going. I have to be up really early for the game tomorrow."

Hermione's eyes followed him as he came around the table to stand near her chair. "Alright," she said, slightly confused at the change in his attitude. Didn't he think it was wonderful that his sister and his best mate were in love?

They exited the pub and a cool breeze hit Hermione's face, making her close her eyes for a moment. She thought about how liberating it would be to simply turn to him and tell him how she felt. How she'd always felt.

"What are you doing?" he asked, breaking her out of her thoughts. Her eyes flew open, and she found him studying her.

"The air feels different here," she said, quickly trying to cover up for her serious slip in the vigilant watch she'd been keeping over her emotions all evening. "I know that sounds silly, but it does."

Ron shook his head. "It doesn't sound silly at all," he said. "When I'm up in the air, flying around, I can feel it too."

They began walking toward the inn, and for as much as Hermione wanted the inner awkwardness to be ended for the night by retreating to her safe room and not facing him again until Harry and Ginny were with her once more, she couldn't help cursing the slight distance between the pub and their destination. They'd be there in less than a minute, and then she'd have to say goodnight.

"You're getting that look again," he said, drawing her attention away from the inner war she was fighting.

"What look?"

"The look you get when you're debating something in your head," he explained, smiling slightly. "You used to get it all the time in school, whenever we were working on something serious."

"I do not get a look," she said, although she tried to fix her expression into a passive indifference all the same. The last thing she needed was him asking questions she couldn't answer.

"Yes you do," he laughed, reaching out and touching her brow with his finger. "Right here…you wrinkle and your eyes kind of glaze over."

Her skin immediately caught on fire where his fingertip grazed her gently. She pulled herself away from his reach, regretting the motion but considering it necessary in the fight to keep her sanity.

"It's just been a long night, and I'm tired," she reasoned, averting her eyes to the road before them.

Ron stopped walking then, and it was a moment before she realized it. When she did, she stopped and faced him. "What's wrong?"

Ron was watching her with a guarded expression on his face, but she had known him too long and too well. Something was bothering him, but he was hesitant to say it. When he remained silent far too long, she tried again.

"Are you alright?" she questioned, walking back to him.

He took a breath which seemed to snap him out of whatever hold his thoughts were under. "Can I ask you something?" he said, his voice barely audible in the night air.

Something about the gentle tone and the seriousness of his eyes scared her down to her very core. If he kept talking like that, looking at her like that, she didn't stand a chance of walking away from him tonight.

"Of…of course," she stammered, shifting her gaze so she wasn't staring into those piercing eyes of his that knew her better than she knew herself.

"Why have you been so distant this weekend?" he asked, in the same gentle voice he'd used before. Still, despite the softness of his tone, the direct, no-nonsense words cut her to the quick.

"Distant?" she echoed, keeping her eyes averted. "You think I've been distant?"

"Yes," he answered truthfully, quickly. "Every time we've had a second together without a bunch of other people around, you almost retreat into yourself. You answer when I ask questions, and you laugh when appropriate. But there's something I hadn't been able to put my finger on all weekend until tonight…you're pulling away from me like you did after Neville's funeral."

"I am not," she demanded now, anger replacing her fear that he would figure out her deepest secret before she'd had time to think it through. "I told you back then that I would never do that to you again, and I've kept my promise. Although, if you think I've been such bad company…"

"Come off it," he interrupted. "I didn't mean that, and you know it. But you also know that I'm right, don't you, which is why you're so defensive."

Hermione huffed angrily. "First I'm distant, now I'm defensive. I have to hand it to you, you've gotten much better at insulting people now that you're older."

She heard herself speaking, but it didn't like her own voice. The words were tumbling out of her quicker than she could edit them, and every single word she spoke was pure bullox. She _was_ distant, and now she _was_ defensive. The effort from protecting the only words she wanted to truly speak was starting to take its toll, and Ron was the unlucky victim.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest and she could feel his eyes burning into the side of her face. Still, she could not meet his eyes.

"You know what else I got better at?" he asked, nothing in his tone indicating that he was angry with her in the slightest. "Figuring you out. You're not angry with me, so why don't we start this again, and you can tell me what's really going on."

"There's nothing going on!" she demanded vehemently, stopping herself short of stomping her foot like a petulant child. "I've actually been under the impression that we've had a perfectly lovely visit with each other. I met your teammates, visited all of your local haunts, watched you play…I'm sorry if that wasn't enough for you, but I honestly don't know what else you could want from me!"

She started to turn away from him, but he wouldn't let her. His hand shot out to grab her arm, stilling her feet before they could take her away from him.

"Hermione, look at me," he said. It wasn't necessarily a command, but she felt the power behind his words all the same. Her eyes traveled to his slowly, afraid of what she would find in the blue depths.

"Having you here…I can't even tell you what it's meant to me," he said, holding her gaze steadily with his. "It's all I've thought about for months. You have no idea how much teasing I've had to put up with from the guys…" His voice trailed away, and something flickered in his eyes.

"I just can't shake the feeling that something's wrong," he continued after some time. He shook his head and Hermione watched mesmerized as his hair fell into his eyes. "It's like you're here, but not really here. Not completely at least."

And she wasn't. She couldn't be completely herself unless she accepted the fact that she was in love with him, and admitted it to him. She hadn't meant to spoil their weekend together by falling in love with him, by being completely incapable of handling it well. Of course he was concerned. She hadn't allowed herself even a second of respite around him. She had kept herself so guarded that she had almost completely shut him out altogether. Only in her mind would it be rational to shut out the one man she wanted in it in every way possible.

The words struggled to get out, to make themselves known…once and for all. She would find the courage, the strength to say them. She would be brave enough for the both of them…

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking down at the top of his trainers. Her words stilled in their journey to her mouth, all momentum lost at the look of misery that quickly spread across his face. "I shouldn't have said anything, because now I've ruined it all. I didn't mean to come off so cross, either. It's just that I promised myself a long time ago that I would watch out for you, but I guess I still have a lot to learn about when to keep my big mouth shut."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as his words reverberated inside her. He _had _always watched out for her, protected her – sometimes even from herself. But this one was something he couldn't fix or help her through. This was something she had to do on her own, for the sake of them both.

She reached out her hand and laid it gently on his arm. His eyes snapped to hers almost immediately, and she could see the same battle waging in his expression as she knew was now evident on her own. Somehow, the small likeness made her feel better than she had all night, and it gave her the extra confidence she needed.

Her fingers prickled where they rested against him, her nerve endings dancing in an almost frantic rhythm. She took a step closer to him, leaving no doubt between them any longer whether or not she would remain distant. She saw his eyes flicker, and felt his muscle twitch under her touch.

"I want to tell you something," she said, doing her best to keep her voice from shaking as violently as her hands were. Ron's eyes seemed glued to her face, as if she was about to reveal the secret to life itself. She took a steadying breath and forced herself to continue.

"One of the things I've always respected about you is that you speak your mind, whether or not it's prudent to do so," she said. "So if that means you call me on something, knowing I won't like it, then so be it. Because I know that you are only doing it _because_ you are looking out for me."

Her hand fell away from his arm, as did her eyes from his face. She could only take so much of his electrifying gaze at one time, after all. "So I should be the one apologizing. I don't have any excuse for how I've behaved except to say that I've been looking forward to this trip for a long time, too, and I suppose that I wasn't quite sure how things were going to be once I got here. It took me longer than I thought to find my footing."

"So everything is alright then?" he asked in a low voice that reverberated in the silence that followed.

"Yes, everything is alright," she replied, barely louder than a whisper. She brought her eyes back to his when he didn't speak immediately, and found him still watching her closely. "Except for the fact that I've kept you up well into the middle of the night before your opening match. You really should go back to the dorms and try to get some sleep."

He didn't say anything for another long moment, in which Hermione's insides felt as if they were trying to escape her body. She couldn't help thinking that if this had been a date, now would be the time for the goodnight kiss.

As if he read her mind, his eyes dropped to her mouth for the briefest of seconds, but it was long enough for her pulse to race out of control.

"Well, goodnight then," he said. "I'll wait until you get inside."

She gave him a small smile and went to turn away from him. At the last second, however, she felt a swift current of courage course through her. She turned back, stepped up to him and placed her hands on his chest as she raised herself on her toes.

Her lips brushed his sun-roughened cheek, caressing his skin for as long as she dared herself to do so. When she pulled away, she found his eyes staring directly into hers. They held the same unwavering intensity as when they'd looked at each other by the canals earlier that day.

"What was that for?" he asked. She had to strain to hear him at all, and she wondered whether it was because he was speaking so quietly, or because her heart was hammering so loudly.

"Good luck tomorrow," she replied softly.

She stepped away from him and had barely taken a step toward the inn when she felt his hand latch onto hers, stopping her in her tracks. It was utterly amazing to her, this power he had over her. It occurred to her that he always had it, and she'd always been affected by it, but as children it had manifested itself in angry rows and silent battles. All these years later, as a grown woman, she could do little to stop herself from facing him now.

Their eyes caught and held, and Hermione found it increasingly hard to breathe. She felt as if someone was squeezing her chest in a vice, and if the pressure didn't let up soon, she was afraid she'd pass out.

From the alley beside the inn came a loud crash, startling the two of them enough to drop each other's hands. Seconds later, a large tabby cat sprinted past them in his haste to escape the noise he'd just created. Hermione let out a small laugh, freeing herself from the heavy weight of anticipation hovering around them.

Ron laughed as well, shoving his hands inside his pockets. "Go on in," he said, nodding his head toward the inn. "It's late, and we could both do with some sleep."

"I'm not the one with the big game," she replied.

Ron shrugged, his eyes coming alive under the glow of the streetlamps. "Yeah, but I've got all the luck I'm going to need," he said, smiling at her.

Her pulse began racing again, and before it could overwhelm her for the hundredth time that night, she returned his smile and bid him goodnight.

She could feel his eyes on her as she made her way inside. The thought of that made her feel incredibly desirable and the sensation was so new to her that she had to keep herself from sprinting the rest of the way to the safety of the lobby.

Once the door had closed behind her, she took her first real breath of the evening. Being in love with Ron Weasley was going to kill her if she wasn't careful.

* * *

Hermione had screamed herself hoarse, but she didn't care. The Cannons had pulled off an amazing victory in their first match of the season, outscoring the Hungarian Hornets 310 – 30. Catching the snitch had been a mere formality, thanks to Ron's truly spectacular performance at the hoops.

Harry and Ginny had hollered right along with her, making Ron's cheering section the loudest in the bunch of fans that had turned out for the match. Hermione spotted Sophia a few rows down early on, but she didn't even care about that. Ron had played brilliantly. Her heart swelled with pride as she watched the teams shaking hands in the air before they all returned to the pitch.

"Come on," said Harry, standing up and stretching a bit after having sat for the last three hours. "Ron said we could meet him at the clubhouse."

They made their way through the throngs of people pouring out of the stands. They were joined by several other people, whom Hermione suspected were family members and friends of the other players. Harry even spoke to a few of them as they traveled along.

Ginny linked her arm through hers as they walked, pulling her a bit to the side so no one would overhear them. "I know you said last night that nothing happened, but your face is positively glowing," she said, eyeing her closely. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me and relive whatever it is that is making you look this way?"

"Ginny, nothing happened," she reiterated hoarsely for what seemed like the millionth time. "I'm just happy for Ron, is all. He had an almost flawless game."

"Right," Ginny said, smirking. "Well someday, when you feel like spilling, you know I'll listen, don't you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued their brisk pace. "Whatever you say, Ginny," she managed past her vocal chords, laughing as the smirk transformed into a sour look of impatience.

As they reached the clubhouse, she spotted Ron immediately. There was a look of pure happiness on his face as he jostled about with some of his teammates before spotting them. When his eyes met hers, his grin widened even more, and he fought his way clear of the celebrating team to get to them.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked jovially as he reached them. Ginny launched herself at her brother, squeezing him hard about the neck.

"You were amazing!" she raved, planting a kiss on his cheek before releasing him. "When in the world did you get so good?"

Ron laughed, shaking the hand Harry had extended to him. "A far cry from the Weasley is Our King days, isn't it?" he joked, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He turned to Hermione, his eyes shining with exhilaration.

She didn't even waste a moment. She threw herself into his arms and hugged him as tightly as she could. "I don't even know what to say," she croaked, wishing she had at least a little voice left to tell him how brilliant he'd been.

"Don't say anything," he said, his voice close to her ear. "It doesn't sound like you can spare the effort."

She laughed, the sound coming out like air whooshing out of a balloon that had been deflated. "Don't make fun. It's because of you that I sound like this."

He pulled back from her, but kept her in his arms. "That's nice to hear," he said, dropping his voice low enough that no one else but her could hear him.

It was amazing to her that among the forty or so people mulling about them, they had managed to create an intimacy that included just the two of them. That is, of course, until several of his teammates came by to make sure Harry, Ginny and Hermione saw how absolutely fantastic Ron had played and asked for proof by requesting play by play recounts of all of the entire match.

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon in a haze of general happiness. The four of them had gone to a fancy restaurant for lunch, and all throughout the meal Ron's hand would somehow touch hers, or their eyes would meet over the table for brief moments.

She felt as if they had crossed some invisible line, and although they were far from their destination, they were now at least headed in the same direction.

Which made it all the more intense when it was time to say goodbye to him. She had tried to mentally prepare herself for this moment all last night, but nothing could have prepared her for the ache that had already started to invade her very bones as she stood waiting her turn to say her goodbyes.

Ginny held onto him for a very long time, promising him letters upon letters of news about every aspect of Fleur's pregnancy…since she'd be privy to it all whether she liked it or not.

Harry and Ron didn't so much say goodbye as they did silently acknowledge each other, as they always had. Hermione knew that their bond went far deeper than friendship…that they were brothers in every sense of the word, and sometimes words weren't needed. Ron cut a look to his sister briefly before meeting Harry's eyes again, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he shook Harry's hand solidly and Harry nodded.

"Hermione, we'll meet you at the top of the hill," Harry said, taking Ginny's hand and leading her away from them.

Hermione watched them go, marveling in the way that even now they were looking for spare moments to have together here and there. She shook her head and faced Ron.

"Those two just can't help themselves, can they?" she said, laughing when her voice cracked halfway through her sentence.

Ron smiled, but the humor didn't quite reach his eyes as he looked at her. "I guess that's what happens when you're in love with someone."

Something in his tone made her laughing cease immediately and her pulse race so quickly that she was afraid she was going to be sick. Thought tumbled over thought, and as she frantically searched for something to say that wouldn't sound desperate and dramatic as they planned to part ways, he took step toward her.

"I can't believe you're going already," he said.

"I can't believe it either," she said softly, fighting to control her lip from trembling. Now that they were here, saying goodbye, she was fairly certain that she was going to start blubbering like a fool.

They fell into a moment's silence, where all they did was stare at each other. Finally, Hermione couldn't take it any longer. She cleared her throat, hoping her voice didn't betray her completely.

"Harry said you only have a few more weeks here, and then you'll be home again…so at least there's that," she said.

"Yeah," he said. "At least there's that."

"You'll be staying at Godric's Hollow with him, right?"

"Right."

Another silence washed over them. Ron seemed to be getting closer and closer to her, although she couldn't recall having seen him move. But then there he was, right in front of her, looking down at her with a level gaze.

She heard a choking, strangled sound escape her lips as she stepped into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She leaned her cheek against his chest, just under his chin, and she marveled at how well she fit there. She felt so safe and warm that for a second she allowed herself to close her eyes. She could hear his heart beating out a strong rhythm as his arms engulfed her.

"I'll miss you," she said, hearing it come out like a forlorn whisper. She didn't care at this point, though. Saying goodbye to him once had been hard; saying goodbye to him twice was torture.

"I'll miss you, too," he said, in a voice not much louder than hers.

They parted then, but before Hermione could step out of his reach his hands came up to rest on either side of her face. There was no more denying it. The line had been crossed, and neither seemed all that sorry about it, nor in any mood to pretend like it hadn't happened.

His eyes darkened considerably as they flickered down to her mouth. The next few moments happened so quickly that in days to come, Hermione wasn't quite sure if they'd even happened at all.

The only thing she was sure about was that her eyes closed, that she felt the warmth radiating off his skin as he lowered his mouth to hers, and that his lips found hers with gentle, unbelievably brief urgency.

Then, in the next instant, he pulled away. "I'll see you soon," he said thickly before turning away from her and walking briskly back in the direction of the dormitories.

She stood there for a long moment, watching him shove his hands in his pockets and lower his head into the sudden wind that had picked up. She raised her fingers to her lips, touching them almost as softly as he had. Then she turned in the opposite direction, joining Ginny and Harry at the top of the hill.

* * *

**_There you have it. Part 5 done. Part six will most likely be the last chapter, and it goes back to Ron's pov. Thank you all once again for sticking with this. I love writing it, and I love hearing from those of you who take time out of your busy lives to read it. Hope everyone is happy and healthy._**


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